


Born To Die

by Solariis



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Body Dysphoria, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, DaD sEnT mE tO tHe MoOn (Umbrella Academy), Emotional Roller Coaster, Established Relationship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Misgendering, Number Five | The Boy has PTSD, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26123632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solariis/pseuds/Solariis
Summary: When Five asked you to marry him, you couldn't say yes fast enough. When he asked you to help him stop the Apocalypse, there was nowhere else you'd rather be. Through hell or high-water, moon-shattering sibling spats, presidential assassinations, miscalculated time dilation's, conspiracy theories or the biggest coup the timeline has ever seen, you'll be by his side.[The story of The Umbrella Academy, with an AMAB NB Reader]
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Reader
Comments: 40
Kudos: 199





	1. A Means to an End

**Author's Note:**

> **Welcome one and all to this massive journey we're about to go on.**
> 
> Some set-up if you care to read;
> 
> ◉ I have not read the comics.
> 
> ◉ **Five is not aged up in this work** , please be aware of this.
> 
> ◉ There will be as little placeholders for the Reader as possible outside of y/n.
> 
> ◉ **Reader explicitly identifies as Non-Binary and is AMAB in this work.** Both feminine and masculine clothing will be used by Reader.
> 
> ☂️

They watched the sky grew progressively darker, the rain slowly rolling in over the sleepy town. They periodically checked their watch, the seconds ticking by soundlessly. It was soothing in an eerie kind of way, the calm ho-hum atmosphere of your average spring day unfolding. Their long black coat kept them warm from the chill wind that was slowly picking up around them, their hands moved to the tie on the front end and they wrapped the surrounding fabric even tighter. The sharply dressed person had been waiting there for quite some time, gently passing back and forth between one column to another underneath the awning. Other patrons shuffled to and from around them, into the hotel lobby or their private vehicles, chauffeurs sometimes having to hold an umbrella up for them as they stuffed themselves into the backs of tinted out cars. They were patient, however, and simply stood there basking in the ambiance, melting into part of the scenery. They rather enjoyed moments like this where the world seemed to turn just a little bit slower and time almost welcomed their presence, the space they took up just by being here.

They reached a gloved hand up to their sunglasses, shifting them to rest on the top of their head. Their eyes softened as they watched a young couple running across the sidewalk, jackets over their heads in a feeble attempt to protect themselves from the weather and bright smiles on their faces. The figure can't seem to recall a time they ever had the chance to be so foolish and young. They startled when a hand gently rested on their elbow, quickly calming themselves and turning to the person next to them.

They smiled once they saw him, “Oh, there you are.”

“Sorry it took me so long,” he said.

They simply nodded and pushed up their coat's sleeve to check their watch.

"It's alright, we're right on schedule," they replied.

He looked out to the street, running a hand down the front of his suit and made a face, lips pressed together.

“Such morose weather,” he mumbled and held his umbrella in his hand.

Their smile grew as they turned to face their partner, “I like the rain, I think it's calming.” they said.

He didn't reply, only glanced over the scenery they just spent the last hour-and-a-half studying. His free hand then slid across the small of their back as their own black car rolled up in front of the hotel. He guided them in first, holding the car door open and making sure they were fully comfortable before attempting to sit inside. He paused, staring up at the grand hotel's many floors, the haze from the rain blurring the roof. They reach out to place a hand over his, their thumb running over the zirconium ring on his finger.

“Five?”

He looks back to them, then down to their hand and flips it over to bring their fingers to his mouth. The kiss is chaste but holds a multitude of emotions in the soft gesture and he smiles, dimples more apparent than ever. He shuffled in next to them and the car door shut silently among the thunder in the sky. Five looked tense, more than usual on these kinds of missions. His grip on the umbrella handle stayed strong as his eyes stared through the window, not catching anything in particular. His partner can't help but wonder what it was The Handler had to say to make him this way. They shifted in their seat and stuffed their hands into their coat pockets, not wanting to push their husband in this moment of tension.

He eventually set the umbrella down on the floor of the car, reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his old crumpled up book. He flipped the pages open and scanned the countless formulas he'd written there over the years he'd been working for The Commission. Some of the pages were beginning to yellow and fade, his thumbs slid across the various numbers and his lips mumbled the equations inaudibly. His companion once attempted to ask what he was trying to solve and he only smiled, kissing their forehead and telling them not to worry about it. Some day he would share it with them; but only when the time was right. They didn't ask what that meant or even when that time would be, they simply nodded along and trusted their lover.

They stole another look at him and couldn't help the fond feeling that bloomed in their chest as they saw the graying hairs along his temples and the wrinkles in his face. They reached out ever so gently to pet his hair, running their fingers through the longer strands at the back. He leaned into the touch but stayed glued to his book. Eventually he pulled out a pen and continued to work through the math, the two of them simply basking in the presence of one another. The rain outside only seemed to grow harsher the closer they got to their location, by the time they arrived it could have been considered a full on storm. The couple shared a grimace and Five tucked his book away, quickly grabbing the umbrella in hand. Always a gentleman, he popped open the door and braved the weather first.

The parasol flourished open at the same time thunder clapped in the sky, stark white letters reading “ **The Umbrella Academy.** ”

* * *

You wake with a startling jolt for the fourth time this month. These dreams of yours are beginning to affect your daily life; what they tend to be about doesn't make you feel any better, either. You rub your face over and over again to try and get some sort of grasp on your own body, as if pressing your eyes hard enough you see spots will suddenly make your problems go away. Looking to the clock by your bed you realize it's only Two-AM and decide you aren't going to get more sleep by now anyways. Kicking off the comforter and swinging your legs over the side of the bed you try and reason with your brain as to why it's decided to remind you of him so much lately.

You haven't seen Five in what feels like years.

You look down at your hands, the soft tan line still fading on your ring finger where your jewelry once sat. In reality it's only been a few days for him without you. You've been all over the timeline since then, still carrying out whatever it is The Handler tells you to do. You've spent countless days in countless different decades since Five made the choice to betray The Commission and save his family. You slide over and rummage through the drawer in your nightstand, breath hitching when you come in contact with your wedding ring. You and Five had gotten simple minimalist rings but he _insisted_ you got yours with black-diamonds; he had always said you deserved the grandeur. From afar they were simple black bands but up close showed the real intricate details you always had a fondness of staring at. Before you could get any more emotional you set the ring back in the drawer and shut it, heaving yourself up off your bed and out into the rest of the apartment.

By the time you're watching your hot pocket rotate in the microwave, wanting just a cheap little midnight snack to hold you over, you hear a knock at the front door. _It's the middle of the night,_ you wonder, _no one should be walking around the dorms right now_. While you're not entirely afraid for your safety—these living quarters exist where The Commission lies—you're also not taking your chances either. You open up the kitchen drawer and grab one of the knives out, making sure you have a tight grip on the handle before making your way to the door. Careful where you step to make the least amount of sound, you reach out to the door handle slowly, wrapping your fingers around it.

“Agent, it's me,” Hazel says from behind the door.

You grumble, loosening up your posture and unlocking the door only to yank it open in frustration.

“Hazel, what the hell? You know better than to do something like this, and where was the secret knock, huh?” You nag him, although you're happy to see the big man alive and well.

He brushes past you and makes a gesture for you to close the door. You silently oblige, locking both the deadbolt and the handle behind you. You can feel the weight of the air between you both and decide to just slip the knife into the waistband of your sleep shorts just in case. He hasn't said anything yet, working his jaw and huffing a couple of times as he eyes your tiny Commission issued home. You lean over, tilting your head to try and get a good look at his face.

“Hazel, what's going on?” you ask slowly, taking a step toward the man. He's in full uniform even at this time of night.

“Agent, Cha-Cha and I just got an assignment and I felt that-”

He hesitates then sighs and drops down on your single dining chair. You rarely see Hazel in distress like this—the last time you did was during that job in Edo-Japan when you were still learning the ropes. That was even before you had met Five. You follow him and press a hand to the small table to lean your weight on it.

“What assignment, Hazel?” you ask.

He sighs and looks away from you, “Cha-Cha and I are being sent to assassinate Five—to stop him from trying to change the timeline.”

You would have reeled if you weren't expecting this since the day Five finally told you what his book full of quantum mechanics was really for. It's no surprise The Handler is going to send some her best ranking Operators after Five—they can't send you after all, you're intimately involved with their target.

It's exactly why they're going to come for you, too.

You meet Hazel's eyes, staring into them as you let it settle in, the knowledge that he was risking himself just to let you know about this.

“Thank you, Hazel,” you reach out and squeeze his shoulder.

He holds your wrist, a mixture of different emotions crossing his face and settling as a storm in his eyes. Hazel stands and for a brief moment you're both as still as the night air before he pulls you into a bone crushing hug. You hesitate then quickly wrap your arms around his big frame and take whatever comfort from the gesture you can. You and Hazel were never as close as you learned to become with Five but you still had plenty of history together in The Commission, you know him as a mentor and a good friend. He pulls back abruptly and pats your arms, psyching himself up and fixing his suit.

“Stay safe, y/n, whatever you do.”

You watch him leave the room just as swiftly as he came and stay staring at the door long afterward. Your microwave dings to let you know your hot pocket is ready.

* * *

You wring your hands together, staring at the briefcase on the floor in front of you. Pacing back and forth the sound of your boots on the gravel are loud only to you, the one person in the massive courtyard. You don't know where you are; only that it's sometime in the 1980's and that you're alone, about to make the biggest mistake of your entire career. You spin back and forth so many times you make yourself dizzy so you crouch down to clutch it to your knees.

Ever since you were eighteen, The Commission is all you've known. They scooped you up from your family faster than you could even say yes—they _were_ your family in a sick and twisted way. You've known them practically your whole life: The Handler, Hazel, everyone running around in the offices with such kind smiles and faces. You were just keeping the balance of the world—yes you had been expertly trained to kill people but, those people needed to die to keep everything safe. You had thought you were apart of the good guys for so long. Five never held any resentment toward The Commission until he learned the apocalypse in 2019 was a predetermined event that they refused to tamper with. You had to admit at the time that you never felt right about it; destroying the entirety of all life of earth. Everything you were doing throughout the history of the universe was all leading up to an infinite desolate wasteland? It made you uncomfortable to think about—but The Commission had never done you wrong. You didn't know Five before he had figured that out, you met him while he was already working through the math to time travel on his own.

Your husband admitted to you that he was planning to double-cross The Commission and change the entire timeline of the known universe. He asked you to help him and join him, promised that you would live a comfortable life together; you would finally have that wedding you always talked about, he would invite all of his siblings and it would be a beautiful mess. He sounded so happy talking about it—the idea of showing you off to his family and having all of his favorite people with him once again. He wished to be able to spend undivided time with you, lounging on couches all day and basking in the normalcy of just having you in his arms without any looming threat over the both of you.

You look up at the glossy unassuming briefcase; your ticket to that future. _They're going to come for you eventually,_ you think, _You already covered for his disappearance on the Kennedy job. They're probably ransacking your apartment right now._

You stand up straight, letting the cold air wash over you to soothe the fire roaring in your chest. You grab the briefcase and set your sunglasses back down over your eyes before you open the time-traveling device, sending you all the way to 2019.


	2. Meet the Hargreeves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-read this chapter an extra 4 times outside of the 3-passes I usually do per chapter but they still feel out of character, so I admit that I'm no TUA screen writer and that I have to just push this out into the world and say "fuck it".
> 
> Thank you for all of the lovely kudos, our adventure continues. 
> 
> ☂️

You grumble to yourself, frustrated with the smudged address scrawled on the napkin in your hands. All of the preparations you've made to escape from The Commission were done so hastily and you feel like a newbie. You rub a hand over your face, _Calm down; you're better than this_ , You scold yourself. The train station is loud, crowds bustling and the distant sound of the subway car shakes through the underground. You burn the address into your memory despite the blurry ink and stuff the tissue into your pocket, keeping your hand there to fiddle with the napkin. The train soon arrives and you shuffle inside with everyone else, leaving the seats to children and older people to rest. Your stomach rumbles, churning with hunger and unease and you wish you had eaten a bite of something before leaving. You were just trying to make sure you left quickly and with little to no tracks behind you.

It didn't really matter, though; where else would you run but right to your husband?

You just need to convene with him and get on track with his plans. You reach up and hold onto the railing, squeezing down. You can do this; you're no damsel in distress—you're no knight in shining armor, either, but this isn't your first rodeo. You listen for the intercom to announce your stop and move through the crowd once the doors slide open. The heels on your boots make a satisfying thump along the tiled floor and you let the repetitive noise ground you, focusing on that as you make your way up the stairs and out onto the streets.

The City is massive and rambunctious, rivaling that of New York and Los Angeles. You check the time on your watch as you walk to the corner to check the street signs. A civilian passing by rams into your left shoulder and you grunt, giving them a side glare as they look you up and down with confusion. They look like they want to say something but they wave their hand and keep rushing on their way. Your lips curl and you look down at your outfit, realizing you stand out a bit in your vintage uniform. It's not your fault that The Commission has a particular liking for the 50's. You need appropriate clothes if you're going to navigate this decade without any trouble. You fluff the circle skirt of your a-line dress before turning and making your way down the street. There has to be a clothing store somewhere that you could buy a new outfit from.

You checked the fashion of the people walking by, noticing the mixed style around you. The 2010's are surely a mash-up of many different styles and previous era's. You stop into the third store you find, liking what you see on the mannequins in the window. You smile politely at the teenager behind the counter when she greets you and make your way to your sized rack, flipping through the t-shirts there. You grab a few basic items and tuck into the dressing room, dropping your old uniform on the floor as you re-dress yourself.

You walk up to the cashier in your new outfit and smile brightly, “Hi, I'd like to wear this out. Can we just scan the tags?” you ask politely.

“Uh...I guess so.” she says, grabbing the price gun and coming around the counter.

You hum as she scans each tag and you pop it off right afterward, sliding over the cash needed to pay for it, glad you brought it with you. On your way out of the store you stuff everything else into the trashcan nearby, only taking your wallet and knife which you've already hidden on your body in the dressing room. As you wait for the light to turn so you can cross the street, you adjust certain parts of your outfit, pleased with your choices. It's fashionable for your tastes but comfortable enough for you to move around in. It's been quite some time since you've worn anything but a suit and dress for work—you've got a yellow fitted crop shirt, high-waisted black jeans and a dark gray denim jacket. The high-top sneakers feel good on your feet after having worn those heeled boots all day and give you confidence that you'll be able to fight when you need to.

It's a frustratingly long walk to get to the mansion—especially since you got lost once or twice, but you manage to find it before sundown; " **The Umbrella Academy**."

You eye all of the intricate details on the outside of the building, especially the logo etched into the glass of the front doors. The magnificence of such a large building right in the middle of a modern city is stark and imposing. You can't imagine a place like this feeling homely. You let the cars pass by before crossing the street and up to the iron gates. You wonder how you're going to introduce yourself as a surprise to Five, how he's going to react to you breaking the promise you made right before he left. Neither of you guessed properly just how fast The Commission would be on your asses.

You opened the gate, the creaking of the metal only setting the mood as you step up to the grand front entrance. Wasting no more time, you reach up and press the doorbell, hearing it echo loudly throughout the interior of the building. No one comes to the door so with a bit of reluctance you press it once more, tucking your hands into your pockets as you wait. What are the odds that no one would be home? You look behind you, at the fountain in the center of the roundabout and cars further off down the road.

The door clicks and rattles, your head whips around in time to watch it open. There's a soft diffident woman behind the door, her brown hair pulled back into a low bun. She eyes you warily, not out of malice but pure confusion and her emotions are evident on her face.

“Can I help you?” she says.

“Hi there, I'm looking for Five Hargreeves, is he here?”

Her brows knit together, “How do you know about—”

“Vanya?” someone from inside the house questions, their footsteps growing louder.

You soon find out who the voice belongs to as they step in the way between you and Vanya. The man is not much taller than you but definitely _looks_ meaner. He gives you a once over as well, immediate distrust in his eyes.

“Yes?” he says.

“I'm looking for Five Hargreeves.” you repeat yourself, squaring your shoulders.

He steps into your space with his eyes narrowed and the gears start to spin in your head. This must be Five's family—you can't believe it didn't cross your mind that they would be here. Of course they're on edge, seeing some random person come to their house and request to see a man that has been missing for years.

“I know about the apocalypse, and I'm here to help,” you say, cutting right to the chase.

He hesitates but quickly procures a knife, holding it up to your chin. You don't flinch, you've had so many knives held to your throat you've lost count.

“Who are you, and what do you want with my family?”

“Diego, hold on,” Vanya tries to calm him down, resting a hand on his bicep.

He shoves her away however, turning to glare at her, “Stay out of the way!”

The commotion at the front door brings two more people walking into the foyer, an incredibly large man and a sharp looking woman trot down the stairs.

“What's going on?” the big guy asks, looking between all three of you standing by the entrance.

You peak around Diego to get a better look at them, but he quickly steps in your line of sight, his blade never leaving the skin under your jaw. The other woman's eyes grow as she sees the knife in Diego's hand and she rushes froward.

“Diego, what the hell?” she says.

“This guy just showed up and said he's looking for Five,” Diego stage-whispers to her and her face only further contorts into skepticism.

“What do you know about Five?” the large man questions, walking forward and barreling through everyone else to stand right in front of you.

He's massive, not only in width but in height and you have to crane your head back just to meet his eyes.

You take a deep breath, “I'm aware of his capabilities to travel through time—that he disappeared sixteen years ago and just recently came back to warn you about the apocalypse happening in a few days. I'm here to _help_.”

He goes to speak but you step forward into his space, “Please, we don't have much time. I'll answer any and all of your questions, but we need to be quick.”

He closes his mouth, huffing through his nose. He takes a look at all of his siblings around him, gauging their reaction before looking back down at you. You stare back, feeling vulnerable under their stares, scrutinizing every part of you.

“Fine,” he says.

“You're letting him in?!” Diego exclaims, jumping forward but Vanya walks up to you before he can.

She searches your face and must have seen something she approves of because she takes your wrist, disregarding the back and forth going on between Diego and the big guy.

“Come on,” she mutters, pulling you in and closing the door behind you.

* * *

“Thank you,” you mutter to Grace, taking the cup of tea she placed in front of you. You watch her walk back to the entrance before looking to the rest of the family.

You're sat at the head of a dining table, all of the other siblings sitting on the surrounding sides, staring at you. You take a long drink of the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest and belly. You've learned their names now and one more sibling joined the fray once you were allowed inside.

“Anytime now,” Diego says, idly flipping his knife, possibly in an attempt to intimidate you.

You set your cup down and lick your lips before making eye contact with Luther and Allison.

“I'm Five's partner and I helped him travel back here to 2019, the plan was that I stay behind to make sure everything went smoothly, but as you can see—we weren't so lucky.”

“Wait, wait, you're telling me...this apocalypse thing might actually be _real_?” Klaus asks, legs tucked up onto his chair.

Your face changes into bewilderment, “Of course it's real, why would we do all this if it wasn't?”

The silence is heavy in the room. Five obviously has been here and told them about it, how could they not believe him? Sure, it's a rather radical notion, but going off what little Five has said, nothing about this family has ever been normal.

You sit up to speak, “The people we worked for found out faster than we thought they would, I need to find Five and figure out what the next step in the plan is before it's too late.”

“Five's not here,” Diego says, full of resentment.

“He left yesterday and hasn't been back since. We don't know where he went,” Allison says.

You look down at your cup, leaning back in your seat with a slump. Of course he's not here; Five is always doing _something_ , as if he enjoys running around like a maniac. You shake your head and let a tired laugh escape you before it turns into rueful nodding, pushing your lips with your tongue.

“That does sound like Five,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing your tea to take another drink.

Klaus raises his hand, sniffing and leaning against the chair he's sat on. Once all eyes are on him, he points a dramatic hand at you.

“How come Five hasn't talked about you, then? If you're his so called 'partner',” he curls his fingers into air quotes, staring down at your hand where your ring sits, “you think he would have said something about a guy he worked with...”

You work your jaw before stating, “Enby.”

They look at you and you meet each of their eyes as you continue, “I'm NonBinary...I don't like gendered pronouns.”

“We're sorry, we didn't mean to offend,” Luther speaks up. You feel relief roll off your shoulders and just nod in return.

“He was hoping to keep me safe and as uninvolved in the process as possible, but we knew that could only go so far...that's my guess as to why he tried to refrain from mentioning me,” you say, holding your cup tighter.

“What do you know about this...apocalypse?” Luther asks, folding his arms on the table.

You bite your lip, “Nothing. I don't know anything other than the fact that it's happening in a few days.”

“You're telling me—neither of you have _any evidence_ or thought of how to prevent it?” Luther says, raising an eyebrow at you.

Diego laughs, harsh and loud, “This isn't real, you're both crazy.”

“It's not my fault my husband doesn't trust anyone because he thinks he knows better than everybody!” you seethe, feeling more and more exasperated as time goes on.

Klaus stutters and you start talking before they can unwrap what you just said, “I'm an ex-agent for The Temps Commission—an organization overseeing and managing the space-time continuum. We make sure everything that is supposed to happen, _happens_ , and the apocalypse is one of them. Five wants to stop it and I want to help him.” you explain, giving everyone your equal attention.

You check the Hargreeves' reactions before continuing, “I'm aware that this sounds batshit, but it's real.”

Vanya shakes her head softly and folds her arms across her chest, “You can't...I mean, an apocalypse, Five having a spouse but not talking about it? I-I know he disappeared and, went through a lot, but this is...”

You grumble under your breath, your hands coming up to rub your temples, “We're running in circles. How else can you rationalize his and my sudden appearance than to just believe us?”

It's so frustrating talking to people who don't understand how time and space work—you see why Five is so discontented most of the time.

“Okay,” Luther says, drawing everyone's attention, “if you're so set on this, come morning, we'll help you find Five. We need him to weigh in on some family matters anyway.”

“Morning? I need to talk to him now,” you say, practically feeling your blood pressure rise.

“Would you like to run around a city you don't know looking for a spiteful bastard who's favorite hobby is disappearing?” Diego asks, a smug look on his face as he leans back in his seat and crosses his ankle over his knee.

“By all means, go. Let us know if you find anything.”

You clench your teeth, hating the fact that he was right. You know nothing of The City and only found the academy due to an old hastily written address you got from Five. You have a stare off with him, neither of you folding under the growing tension between you both.

“How about,” Allison says, getting to her feet, “instead of instigating a fight, we be nice to our sibling-in-law?”

She steps around the table and sets a hand on your shoulder, her soft smile almost puts you at ease but you see the whirlwind in her eyes.

“You're probably exhausted, you should rest before running out tomorrow,” she says, her voice gentle with you.

She rubs your back and looks to her brothers before guiding you out of the dining room, past Grace who had stood there silent the whole time.

“I'm sorry we had to meet like this,” you nearly laugh as you look at her, “I can't imagine what it's like to be in your shoes right now.”

“If what you're saying is true—which is becoming a problem—I have no idea what you're going through, either,” she says, pulling her hand away from you and walking you up the stairs to the many bedrooms.

You feel safe around her but not entirely trustful, your training refuses to let you do that so easily. You follow her to a clean guest bedroom, walking around and looking at the décor for the room instead of sitting or lying down first.

“You'll be okay, you know,” she starts, hesitating before speaking, “you're family, despite it all.”

You turn around quickly, surprised by that claim. You never really had that; The Commission was your first sense of communion. These people—The Hargreeves are your family, aren't they? That's heavy to think about right now, especially since they clearly hold distrust towards you. You give her the best smile you can muster up and thank her for being so courteous; eventually through the silence she gets the hint and walks away from the room. You're alone but you don't doubt Diego and Luther will be keeping tabs on you. You can't blame them, you can just hope things go a little smoother from here on out.


	3. Rough and Tumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me, Five isn't in this one, either.
> 
> He'll be in the next chapter, though!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for giving kudos and reading this work!
> 
> ☂️

The guest room you've been allocated looks like it's right from the cover of a home-goods magazine. You don't touch anything aside from opening the closet doors and checking for cameras in the crevices; you found a few of them and don't doubt that there's more all throughout the building. The academy is eerily silent despite how many adults are in it at the moment—no footsteps, doors shutting or wood creaking. The expanse of it and the mass of decorations must not let sound carry well. You eventually get tired of admiring the wallpaper and leave the room with wary steps, your hand sliding along the wall as you walk.

There are a lot of paintings and various high-class decor along the walls—but nothing about the family at all. It feels like the entire home is on display, a dollhouse sculpted and polished to perfection. You could get lost in a place this large so you make sure to remember landmarks in the halls. You lose count of how many bedrooms you pass by and other rooms are full of various entertainment and hobby equipment. You imagine the Hargreeves' children running from room to room trying to cram scholar levels of knowledge into their heads. Absently, you wonder just how talented they all are under the surface.

You eventually come across the balcony that overlooks the living room. There's a painting of a young child on the wall that looks incredibly regal and you wonder which of them it is. You can barely make out voices of the siblings talking below you but you catch a word here and there. With a frown, you realize they're discussing the legitimacy of you and your claims and attempting to figure out what to do about you. You turn on your heel and walk away, not wanting to get caught snooping and make them distrust you any further. Perhaps you should leave on your own before you cause more problems by being here. You're distracted for a moment by a figurine display—the academy as children, dressed up in uniforms and masks like superhero toys—behind a domed glass.

You notice someone come closer, but don't look away from the collectibles.

“Pretentious, isn't it?” Klaus says, staring at the case with dull eyes.

“It's definitely flashy. Off-putting, I would say.” you reply, looking up at him.

He snorts and flicks the glass, “That's one way to put it,” he mumbles.

Klaus scrubs a hand through his matted hair and hums before meeting your eyes. He looks tired, his eyes are bloodshot, and he seems lethargic.

“So, you're really from the future, huh?” he says.

You nod, “Alright...so—hey, sorry about earlier. I was just curious cause you've got _that_ ,” he points to the ring on your left hand, “But then you said husband, and it all came together. I just wanna say, welcome to the family.”

He smirks and it doesn't feel disingenuous so you offer him a smile back. You balk when he then slings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side, walking off down the hall with you.

“How did you two meet, huh?” his smile has grown into a sharp grin.

“Well, we met in The Commission. I was his partner and had to teach him the ropes when he was first recruited,” you explain, wondering how much Five would be comfortable with you telling his brother.

Probably none of it, knowing Five.

“Oh-ho-ho! Five is dating an older person; you know, I always pegged him the type,” he says, “Forever gave me geezer vibes even as kids.”

You snort, “Five is fifteen years older than me, I met him when he was thirty-nine.”

“Huh.”

You shake your head and he moves to look down at you, “Oh hey, do you know about Delo—”

“Everything okay?” Vanya asks, coming down the other end of the hall.

“Just talking. Hanging out,” you say, smiling softly at her.

“Yeah, I'm getting to know little y/n here, and about their love-life with our estranged brother,” Klaus says.

“Klaus, we shouldn't pester them,” she says as she comes closer.

He gasps and presses a hand to his chest, “Moi? Never!”

You wave your hand, “I don't mind at all, but I'd love to talk about all this in better circumstances.”

She nods and pushes her hands into the pockets of her jacket, “I guess I do have one question, though,”

“How long have you known Five?”

You watch her eyes, seeing the discontent there. Is she always like this, so soft?

“Around three years,” you start, folding your arms, “He proposed to me about half a year ago, although it's hard to tell when you're constantly running between decades.”

“And we weren't invited?” Klaus shifts over to Vanya's side, leaning against her.

“Well, we're actually still engaged. No time for a wedding,” you smile though, looking between the two of them, “he wanted to make sure you guys could be there, too.”

“Oh,” Klaus says. Eventually Vanya smiles and looks down at her shoes.

“Do you wanna just—keep talking?” she says.

“If we're telling stories, can I come?”

You scoff, “Of course, Klaus.” and smile at him.

He grins then turns around with a flourish, “Let's go to my room!” and starts to walk off.

You and Vanya follow, leaving the display of figures behind, the engraving on the bottom stand reading **The Umbrella Academy**.

* * *

You watch as Grace walks out of the room carrying the leftover dishes. You had tried to take them yourself, but she insisted on cleaning up for you, with her kind smile and warm nature.

“Your mom is a lovely woman,” you say, looking back to Vanya.

You're both sitting on her old bed, having migrated to her room after Klaus decided to take a hot bath to relax after the day everyone has had. The time you've spent with the two of them tonight was comfortable and inviting, it helped you escape from your worries if just for a moment. They were wonderful people to talk to and their opposite vibes balanced each other so well, they really knew how to make you feel welcome.

“Yeah, she's always been like that. Sometimes, I wonder how my dad knew how to program love and care,” she says, tucking her legs up.

Your eyebrows slowly knit together, “Program?”

She hugs her legs, “I guess there was no reason for Five to bring it up, but...our mom is a robot built by our dad.”

You open your mouth but close it right after, not really having a reply. You just nod in understanding—after all you did meet Pogo earlier and the head of The Commission is a goldfish piloting a decapitated human body, so, hey—what's one robot mom? You fall backward and stare at the ceiling, letting a long sigh out, your eyes fluttering closed. You feel Vanya lay back next to you and hear her own deep sigh, basking in the silence that follows. It's not intolerable in the least, in fact you enjoy just getting to lie down and let time tick by as its meant to. In the stillness of her bedroom, you hear footsteps out in the hallway, clear and heavy on the wooden floor. Assuming it's just one of her siblings, you don't make a move to investigate, enjoying the moment you're sharing with your sister-in-law. Then, a loud metal swish comes from the hall. You raise your head in time to hear the distinct sound of a gun cocking followed by rapid, booming gunshots.

You spring into action instinctively, grabbing Vanya and pulling her to your chest. You roll to the floor and press her down on it below your body, looking back toward her bedroom door where just outside begins a cacophony of battle sounds. She's gasping and squirming beneath you, looking back at you with terrified eyes . You get off of her, moving to press your back up against the wall right near her door and you grab the handle. You weigh your options, knowing that while you don't know the layout of the building, neither do the Commission goons—no doubt in your mind that the only people with enough balls to break into the Hargeeves' mansion are the ones looking for you.

“Stay here and stay low, I'll come back for you when it's safe,” you promise to Vanya. You wish you had your gun on you but you slip your knife out of your pants before swinging the door open and rushing out into the hallway.

You see Diego attempting to headbutt his way through Hazel's metal helmet and you cringe at the resounding clink it gives off.

Hazel stumbles and hits the wall behind him before shouting, “Cha-Cha, shoot him!”

“Get out of the way, dumbass,” she grunts and readies her gun.

Wasting no time, you jump up behind her and wrap your arms around her neck, digging your knife right into her left shoulder. She cries out and grabs at your arms before elbowing you in the stomach, knocking the wind out of you. You persist and jump, feeling the burn in your abdomen as your legs wrap around her waist, the momentum letting you pull her down on the ground face first. Diego takes this moment to kick Hazel in his gut, slamming him against the wall. As you're wrestling with Cha-Cha on the ground, getting her into a back mount grapple, Vanya looks out of her room and gasps when she sees the chaos.

“Get back inside!” you yell but the split-second distraction was enough for Cha-Cha to break your hold on her arms, grabbing the knife embedded in her shoulder and she sinks it into your left thigh. Rolling away from you, she picks up her gun, shooting at you without hesitation. You had already scrambled on your feet and tumble back into Vanya's bedroom, barely missing the shots that were chasing your legs. You pull the blade out and hold yourself up by gripping her metal bed-frame. You put yourself in front of Vanya in time to see Cha-Cha coming through the doorway.

You rush for her, using the palm of your hand to shove the gun barrel up, her bullets flying just over where Vanya was standing and trailing into the roof. You stab into her left side and again into her arm before she backs up into the hallway, yanking the blade out and letting it clatter to the floor. You huff and stalk out after her, searching that dumb pink dog mask of hers.

“Don't you miss these fights, Cha-Cha?” you say, closing in on her.

She rolls her shoulders and readjusts her hold on her gun, tilting her head, “Not as much as I will once I slaughter your sorry-ass.”

You rush into one another, crashing bodies as she whips you across the face with the butt of her assault rifle, sending you stumbling into the wall. You taste the blood in your mouth and groan as you then have to keep rolling and spinning along the wall to dodge her shower of bullets. You turn a corner and hear her rushing after you, you take rapid breaths to psych yourself up before turning to meet her as soon as she crosses into your peripheral.

You grab her by her left arm and swing her to the banister, her lower back slamming into the metal, and she grunts in pain. Before she can move, you grip the back of her neck right under her helmet and hook your leg behind her right knee, shoving and tilting her backward over the railing. She lets out a shout as she falls and slams down on the floor below. You see Diego behind the couches waiting for his chance to escape and as you look across the way, Grace sits peacefully stitching away at her embroidery.

“Who kicked your ass?” Hazel says from below, holding out a hand to Cha-Cha.

“Shut up,” she replies, taking his hand and standing up.

You click your tongue and move to find the stairs, ignoring the burn and tear in your thigh, the gunfire kicking up behind you. As you're rounding another turn you see Luther already at the bottom of the steps, crossing the foyer and catching Cha-Cha by the back of her suit. He picks her up like a rag doll and throws her into the foyer on the floor and you can't help the smirk on your face as you see her curl up and just lay there under the pain. The commotion through the archway picks up and you hear Diego saying something before Hazel, too, comes soaring through and crashing into the table there, shattering it with the impact.

Cha-Cha lifts her mask to look at Hazel, “Who the hell are these people?”

“They're my family.” You say, making it down the steps and wiping the blood from your mouth.

“Goddammit,” Cha-cha rolls her eyes and pulls her mask back on, getting up to her feet with her rifle in hand.

“I lost my gun,” Hazel says to his partner, watching as she opens fire into the living room, the siblings all scattering throughout the house.

“Then deal with Agent, I'm going after them,” Cha-cha turns to follow, moving quickly.

Hazel looks to you and you know he's hesitating, gauging whether it's right to strike you or not. He then turns on his heel and walks into the living room, so you follow, thrown off by his behavior. As you're coming through, he's opening a case to grab something out of it but you don't get a chance to see what it is before someone is coming down the stairs.

“Guys? Is everyone okay?” Vanya says, her eyes wide and her hands tucked under her arms to hug her body.

“No, Vanya,” you call for her, “go back upstairs!”

Hazel pushes forward and swings a flail at you, you drop just in time to feel the wind of the weapon disrupt your hair. He pulls back and kicks you in your sternum, sending you crashing into the tile and sliding across the floor. Your hand scrambles against the smooth floor as you search for anything to hold onto and you end up grabbing Luther's ankle. You look up at him and his face is steady, no doubt having been in fights like this just as much as you have.

“Hey, asshole,” he calls for Hazel.

You search for Vanya and find her attempting to hide behind one of the pillars, making eye contact with you on the floor. You wish you could tell her to run as far away as she can, but you're only barely finding your lungs to breathe and Hazel has already begun swinging for Luther. Instead, you crawl your way across the floor to her, once you get there she hurriedly helps you to your feet, her hands shaking as they hold you.

Luther catches the two of you and shouts, “Get Vanya out of here!” wrestling with Hazel as they take shot after shot at one another.

You take her by the shoulders and push her toward the living room. She moves and tucks behind a wall out of sight, and you can only hope to a safe hiding spot. You turn around to help Luther but he's already got Hazel on all fours, using both hands clasped together to strike at his spine repeatedly until Hazel collapses. He sighs and steps on him as he makes his way over to you, his frame takes up your whole view of the foyer as he's panting and looking down at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks and you open your mouth to tell him, but Hazel wraps his arms around Luther's hips.

He picks Luther's entire body up and over himself, slamming him down on the floor with all of Luther's own weight crashing onto his neck. You hiss at the sight and ready yourself for Hazel who recovers just as quickly as you expect him to. He cracks his neck and smooths out his coat before walking toward you.

“You know I don't want to do this,” he says, muffled behind his mask.

“But what The Commission says, goes, huh?” you reply, holding up your fists.

He grunts and gives a tilt of his chin before coming at you. You get a good couple of pot shots into his gut and a kick to his side but Hazel is a bigger and stronger than you— while you can last longer in a fight he deals much heavier hits. You know it's a losing battle but you refuse to go down without giving it your all. Every shot to the cheekbone and knee to the stomach is one nail in your coffin, and he grabs you by the face to slam your head on the wall, leaving you seeing stars and a dull sense of vertigo washing over your limbs. Behind you, hidden in the other room, Vanya bites her lip and winces at the sound and vibration of your skull meeting plaster.

You drop and crumble when he let's go, lingering too long at the sight of your body curled up on the floor. He takes his leave, staggering through the home and disappearing beyond your line of sight. Your eyes are swimming and the room blurs into color, so you close them and roll on your stomach, attempting to get up on your own.

“Luther!” Allison screams, rushing into the entrance hall. You barely register her stepping over to him and crouching to check on him.

There's a hand smoothing down your back and hoisting you up, letting you come face to face with Diego.

“Not bad,” he says, noticing your condition.

“Thanks,” you take the hidden compliment with a broken smile and support yourself on the wall as you stand, one hand clutching the back of your head. Diego almost hovers but turns to help Allison with their brother.

“Come on, Luther, get up,” she says, grabbing her brother's arm and pulling. With Diego's help they manage to get Luther back on his own two legs.

“Ah, you gotta cut down on that fast food, soldier,” Diego can't help but joke.

You walk next up to them but Luther is looking over your head at the balcony. You turn around and see Cha-Cha before she jerks back and rams her blade into the mechanism keeping the chandelier up.

“Get out of the way!” he shouts and shoves all of you away, the chandelier comes crashing down over his shoulders and back. He's squashed beneath the wreckage of metal and glass and you have to shield your face so no debris hits you.

You rush forward on all fours, panting and leaning down to see Luther staring back at you with blood trailing down the side of his head. You don't know if you're more relieved to see that he survived it or more worried that you now have to attempt to get him out from under it. Both Diego and Allison who seem frozen and you curse yourself under your breath. Moving to grab the metal, it begins to shake and lift on its own causing you to sit back when Luther gasps and stands up. Everyone is silent once he stands at full height, shirt caught on the metal, his abnormally massive musculature covered in fur and deep scars. It looks painful with how the injuries across his body look to have never healed properly. You get up and your hands hover over him, some part of you wanting to tell him everything will be okay.

“Holy shit,” Diego says, looking on with awe.

Luther slides the chandelier off to the floor, panting as he stumbles under the last weight of it. He checks all of you and you wish your tongue didn't feel like lead in your mouth. He makes eye contact with Allison and the two stare, emotions passing through them that you can't understand. Eventually, he moves by you slowly before it turns into a full run, pushing past Diego and up the stairs. Allison watches him retreat before finding Vanya and walking over to her, her hands come up to check on her, but she doesn't end up saying a word.

“Did you know?” Vanya asks, searching her sister's eyes.

Allison looks back to where Luther had run and slowly shakes her head, meeting Vanya once more, “No.”

There's a barely audible song being hummed from above, Diego mutters something about Grace and leaves, marching up the stairs.

You groan and let yourself slump on the last step, finding solace in even the rough comfort of sitting down. You close your eyes and swallow thickly, letting the emotions and leftover adrenaline wash through your limbs. It's been awhile since you've gotten your ass kicked so thoroughly and you hate that you kind of missed it. After you and Five had become an item, he became protective over you and though he knows you're capable and he trusts you to do your job, he could never stop himself from worrying. You miss him in times like these.

“y/n?” Vanya says and you open your eyes to see her standing over you, Allison at her side.

“Hey, come on,” Allison says, reaching for you and helping you up.

They carry you over to the couch and down on the cushions. Allison disappears and you watch Vanya sit beside you, rubbing her hands together and looking off into space. You slowly reach over and hold her hand, she looks down at your fingers and your ring before looking up at your face. You smile and although she doesn't give one back, she doesn't have to. The gesture isn't ignored, though, and she squeezes your hand in hers before letting go. Allison comes back with the first aid kit and does a quick patch job on your thigh, pressing gauze to the wound and you hold it there over your jeans. You've recovered from worse and deny her suggestion of anything more involved at the moment. She finally sits down on the edge of the coffee table, looking both of you over.

“Who were those people?” Vanya speaks up.

“Hazel and Cha-cha,” you say, “assassins sent by The Commission.”

Allison presses her lips together, “Then we're lucky to be alive.”

You shift in place and roll your neck, grunting with how sore your body is, “They were looking for Five, especially since they left me here. He's seen as the bigger threat, though I haven't got long before Operators come after me, too.”

“What do they want with Five?” she folds her arms, giving you her full attention.

“His corpse, nestled nicely with mine in a grave somewhere,” you stare at her blankly.

“I hope it's not difficult for you to believe us, now.”

Allison bites her tongue, nodding and switching her attention to Vanya, “You sure you're okay?” she asks.

Vanya just nods, letting what you said sink in. She doesn't know why, especially with the new information, but you being here gives her small a sense of comfort even though she's only known you for a few hours. Diego comes walking into the room and he starts to pace back and forth, breathing hard and shaky.

“Diego?” Allison calls to him.

He looks over, almost manic, and he presses his tongue to his busted lip as his eyes land on Vanya.

“What are you still doing here?” he says, pointing at her.

“I'm just trying to help,” she starts to say, but he nearly cuts her off.

“No, you could've been _killed_ , or gotten any one of us killed,” he juts his finger at her.

"The same can be said for any one of us,” you say, sitting up and eyeing him.

“Nothing from you, I can't trust anything you say,” he speaks through clenched teeth, “Vanya is a liability,” he says to Allison.

“Vanya is your _sister_ ,” you start, moving to get up, “and they would have shown up here with or without me.”

Vanya holds you back, though, gripping your hand with all of her strength. You look at her and see the emotion swirling in her eyes, slowly sitting down. “Allison?” she asks, searching her sister's face.

Allison stays quiet, looking down and licking her lips. You feel incredulous, witnessing this interaction between family members. At the very least they should be more concerned about her well-being, not making her feel like a burden.

“Vanya may be unable to fight back but that doesn't mean she needs to be _outcast_ like she doesn't even matter,” you say.

Allison leans toward you, “You don't understand, she'll just get herself hurt, she's—“

“Not like you,” Vanya says, years of emotion lying behind it. when her sister doesn't reply, Vanya nods and moves to walk out.

“No, that's not what I meant,” Allison says, walking after her sister, “Vanya, wait!”

“Let her go, it's for the best,” Diego speaks up from his spot on the couch.

“Are you insane? There are killers on the loose, hunting _our family_ , and you're going to shove her away like this?” you say, brushing past Allison, giving her no more of your attention as you follow Vanya out of the house.

“Vanya, they're right about you getting hurt, but your siblings are _wrong_ to talk about you like that,” you say, trying to lean over and see her face but her head is tucked down, her fists clenched.

“I-I have to go,” she says, meeting your eyes, the raw dejection almost glowing in her irises, a panic rising within her.

You can't figure out the right thing to say, such an outsider to the story of their childhood, so you just nod. You offer to stay with her as she calls a taxi, not wanting her to run off in the middle of the night like this. You end up having to be a bit aggressive about it so she reluctantly agrees, and you try to ease the moment by asking her about her music. You don't know a lot about playing so most of what she says flies over your head, but you enjoy the way she gets into the details of her instrument.

When her cab comes around, you open the door for her, “Are you going home?” you ask when she sits inside.

She stuffs her hands in her pockets and looks back up at the academy, “I might...go to a friend's house—just so I won't be alone.”

You agree and close the door behind her, watching as it drives off down the road. There's thunder in the air and rain slowly starts to trickle down, yet you stand there and watch until the car disappears and the rain becomes a torrent downpour before stepping back inside the academy. There's one thing that's been gnawing on the back of your mind all night and it comes to the forefront as you're finally left alone in the silence.

Where the hell is Klaus?


	4. The Ugly Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's finally here, but this chapter was getting too long for me to continue, so sorry about the tease!
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and bookmarks!! You're why I keep wanting to update.
> 
> ☂️

Five has not moved for the last three hours, so sure that the scope of his gun is now marked into the skin of his eye and a cramp has started to form in his calve from the crouched pose he's in. He refuses to leave, even if it means he would spend days just sitting on this rooftop, waiting. He feels his palms begin to sweat and he groans, letting go to wipe them on his pant leg only to grip his sniper rifle seconds after. He can't afford to not be on guard at every second, he can't afford for it to be his fault if anything ever happened to you.

The massive cathedral is gritty and ancient even for the time period, thick walls with people covering every square inch of it. While Five is one of—if not _the best_ —snipers the commission has ever seen, even he can't detect a target through walls with the naked eye. It's why when the case landed on your lap, you had went in undercover, the goal to poison the leader of the group. It was supposed to be quick; Get in, kill him, and get out. It had been weeks since you first arrived. Five is all too aware of how good you are at your job, so when he got wind of how long you had actually been here, he snatched the next briefcase he could find.

He has no qualms doing what he's not supposed to, and that includes intervening on another Operators missions, especially because you aren't just another partner to Five. You're _his_ partner. You're his _beloved_. You were trapped here for three weeks and still have not managed to get out—his stomach burns with the thought of what could have gone wrong. So Five posted up here on the roof of a nearby storage building, watching through the smallest gap of foliage into a cloudy, dirty window overlooking the apse and main altar just waiting for a glimpse of you to pass by. He's seen the leader, could have killed him if he wanted to, but he's been waiting through the entire ceremony just to see you.

He needs to know if you're okay.

He grips his rifle harder, the cramp in his calve amassing into something fierce and he dares to shift his leg to ease the pain. Sweat rolls down his forehead and he feels his suit clinging to him, even in the ugly overcast sky. The choir picks up in song and he sees the leader of the cult take a step behind the altar with a member following him in robes. The leader pulls the hood down and Five nearly gasps when he sees your face from under the thick fabric. He wishes he could see the details of your face, you must be exhausted. The leader picks up a burning incense stick and circles it around your head, letting the ash crumble into his fingers before swiping it in patterns over your face.

As Five watches, he can't help but wonder; Is it wrong of him to think that you look incredibly beautiful, even like this, surrounded by crazy cultists in the depths of an ancient cathedral in the middle of 17th century Europe? You bring your hands into prayer as the self-proclaimed God picks up a large ceremonial knife. He brings it close to you and Five pulls the trigger, watching his body tumble to the ground and blood splatter over the front of your gray robes. There's mass panic, the choir comes to a sudden halt as everyone screams and you bring up a sleeve to wipe the blood from your face before disappearing further into the cathedral. Five stands and nearly falls over with the rush of blood to his limbs, pushing through and gathering his equipment. He rushes down the concrete stairs, heart beating rapidly in his chest and bursts through the doors of the storage building, finding you standing at the bottom of the steps in all of your glory.

“Took you long enough,” you joke, your voice rough and tears in your eyes as you stalk across the courtyard to your husband.

“That will never happen again,” Five mumbles as he drops both his gun and briefcase to the floor in order to scoop you up into his arms.

As you hold and cherish each other, Five's rifle rolls to a stop on the ground, engraved in the barrel of the gun reads **The Umbrella Academy**.

* * *

“Understand I do not mean to be cruel when I tell you that you need not worry about Klaus, Mixter y/n.”

“Pogo, we need to be worried about everyone now. No one should be alone, we're against something more dangerous and complicated than you think,” you say, exasperated.

Pogo walks forward, looking up at you with strong eyes, “While this is true, the most logical explanation for his sudden disappearance is simply that he got frightened by the commotion last night and fled the academy.”

You fold your arms and lean against the column, turning your head. There's a sour feeling in your stomach, like everything is going wrong right before your eyes and you're helpless to stop it, which is grating at your very core. You hadn't slept a wink last night—wandering the halls with stress, looking for Klaus all night—and you were the first one to find Grace, deactivated and still as a statue in her seat. While you're no stranger to death and corpses, she still looked so full of life, rosy cheeks and perfect hair, now gone. The circuitry in her arm cut and exposed did nothing to help the image of such a loving and caring woman swept from this reality. When Allison woke up some time later, you had broken the news to her. You didn't know what to expect, tears or otherwise, but she simply sat and looked at her in silence, holding her mother's hand.

She eventually broke the moment by standing and asking if you would like a change of clothes, considering your jeans had a large hole in them, dried blood spreading from the entry wound. You accepted her offer and only an hour later, here you stand in the kitchen, waiting for your toast to finish and Allison to wake up Luther. When the toaster pops, Pogo lays his cane against the counter and pulls the jar of jam closer, taking your bread out and spreading the strawberry jam over it for you. You move from your place against the wall and attempt to stop him but he just smiles up at you and turns away, continuing to help.

“Please, it has been some time since I've been able to take care of anyone. You, my dear, seem like you need it the most.”

He finishes and sets the plate down at the table, pulling out your chair for you. You roll up your sleeves and can't help but give a tired smile back as you sit down. Allison only had a few clothing items to give you, but you liked the black turtleneck sweater and white skirt combo. Pogo has been nothing but kind to you since you got here, and just like Grace, welcomed you with open arms. You eat your meager breakfast and watch Pogo clean up, eventually standing to grab and drink down a glass of orange juice he prepared for you. You try to ask him about how he feels now that Grace is gone or about the attack, but he averts and dances around your questions just as well as Five does. You take the hint and thank him for how kind he's being, letting him know you appreciate the warm gestures.

It's as he's in the middle of spinning a tale about the time Klaus had tried to cut Vanya's hair that Allison comes walking in, dressed to the nines in a lovely blue tube dress and a leather jacket.

“I'm going to go see Vanya and make sure she's okay...to apologize,” she smooths down her jacket, sliding her purse up to her elbow, “Luther is up and ready.”

You nod and get up, walking with her as Pogo makes his way up stairs ahead of you.

Allison pauses at the door, turning to you, “I know everything is crazy right now, but we're really glad to have you, y/n.”

Surprised, you find yourself struggling with a response, “Believe me, I'm...happy to be here—and everything will be okay, I promise.”

You wonder what it is she sees in your eyes when she looks in them and eventually smiles, but it reminds you of when you first met Vanya at this very door. When she leaves, you linger in the silence before making your way up the stairs to look for your brother-in-law.

“Luther?” you ask, not wanting to take a turn down the wrong massive hallway.

“Over here, Mixter y/n,” Pogo calls you from the end of a hallway and you meet him before going down the corridor where all of siblings' bedrooms are.

You wince at the bullet holes lining the wall and the damage to Vanya's door, but once you make it to the room Luther is in, you're back on topic. It's one of the bigger ones you've seen and has a single large window with a slanted wall from the roof of the mansion. It was modest but cluttered with books and papers, Luther is in front of a wooden desk going through said papers in one of the drawers.

Pogo comes up behind him and sighs, “Like I said, Master Luther, Number Five hasn't lived in this room since he was a boy.”

“Yeah, I know, but we need to warn him. He doesn't even know we were attacked,” Luther stutters and sends a look at Pogo over his shoulder.

 _So this is Five's childhood bedroom?_ You take a step further inside and do a turn in the center, soaking in the green colored wallpaper and little knickknacks he has sitting on the shelves.

“Five would never leave evidence of his location behind,” you say offhandedly, noticing Luther looking unimpressed with your comment, “He knows they're coming for him, besides, why would he have a need to touch any of this stuff anyway?”

“Listen,” Luther starts with gritted teeth, “I know you're his partner, but he's my brother and I—“

“What are you doing here?”

Everyone turns and looks to see Diego standing in the doorway, dressed in the same outfit and gear he had on last night. He looks just as callous as Luther, if not more so. _Is he always on the offense?_ You think.

Luther stands and turns to you before going back to Diego, “Do you know about mom?” he says.

“Well, it looks like you got what you wanted,” Diego says, “one way or another, right?”

“You wanna tell me what _you're_ doing here?” Luther asks instead, giving you and Pogo a look once more.

“Looking for Five.”

“Oh, let me guess, you're gonna save the day?”

“It's what I do. Asshole.”

“Really? Last I checked, you mopped floors.”

You look to Pogo who looks back at you unimpressed with the interaction between the boys. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and step forward right as Diego says, “And what do you do?”

“Guys, this will get us _nowhere_ , and fast. We need to keep focused,” you say, your hands out in front of them.

“I wholeheartedly agree, in fact, it's why I take charge, unlike you,” Diego juts a finger at Luther, “You sit on the moon, for four years, waiting for orders.”

“Diego,” you bristle, setting your hand on his chest but he doesn't back down, looking at Luther over your head.

“Go ahead, keep on being a loyal soldier after everything our father did to you.”

Luther steps forward, the two of the closing in on you, “What? You mean save my life?”

“No, I mean, turn you into a monster,” Diego almost looks smug as he says this and you feel your blood boil.

“Knock it off, you're both grown men and this is petty,” you look to the both of them, pushing them to try to gain distance between the brothers.

Luther huffs before pushing forward, aiming to slam a fist into the wardrobe he instead shoves you into it hard enough to cause a dent in the wood. You grunt with the impact and recoil, trying to pull out of the splintered wood as you hear Pogo gasp from the sidelines.

“Y/n, wait, I'm sorry-“ Luther says, pulling you out and attempting to brush the debris off from your clothes and hair.

“Jesus, look at you, man,” Diego says, tugging you away from his brother, “Grow up, Luther. We're not thirteen anymore.”

“Enough!” you yell, sick of the bickering and you yank your arms away from Diego. Taking a step back and looking at them both you huff and square your shoulders.

“The world is ending soon, we all just got our asses handed to us by time-assassins, Five and Klaus are missing, and this is how you guys decide to act? Like bickering little boys?” you hiss with no remorse in your tone.

The men almost gawking at your outburst. Frustrated, you continue, “I may not know you personally, but that does not mean I wouldn't die for each and every single one of you. You're my _family_ and right now, we are all we've got when it comes to protecting one another, and if you can't understand that, take your bullshit somewhere else!”

Pogo steps up next to you and takes your hand and holding it firmly. When you look down at him, he looks to have approved of what you said and stands by you.

“Now,” he says with the finality only a parent could have.

The boys share a glance before turning away from each other, suddenly embarrassed of their own behavior. They mutter an apology to you and Pogo before walking out of the room. You sigh and rub your shoulder where you crashed into the wardrobe, thinking about if Five will be upset that its broken or not.

“Are you alright?” Pogo asks, but you just shake your arms out.

“Don't worry, I'm tough, Pogo,” you smile and make your way out of the bedroom, following after your idiot brothers-in-law.

“What's the plan, then?” Diego asks as you catch up with them by the stairs, the two of them akin to kicked puppies.

“What exactly do you two know about Five and what he's been up to since he came back?” you ask.

“I know that he's been staking out in a crummy old van in front of some building downtown,” Luther says and Diego raises a brow at him.

“That's something we can work with, he probably has a lead he's attempting to follow. Where's the van? We can start from there,” you say, stuffing your hands into your pockets. Thank god Allison picks the skirts with pockets.

“Not too far, we can walk it.”

“Walk it?” Diego says, “I have a car, why are we gonna walk around The City in broad daylight?”

Luther purses his lips and gestures to himself, “You think I can fit in your tiny four-door?”

“Good point,” Diego mumbles and turns, making his way down the stairs.

“A lovely stroll in the park it is,” you say, sarcasm dripping with every word and taking the initiative to be the next one out the front door.

* * *

  
“So,” Luther starts, hands clasped together. You end up walking backwards to look at him since he takes up so much of the sidewalk on his own, causing you to go in front of him and Diego, “...tell us about yourself.”

“Oh boy,” Diego mumbles, looking off to the side.

You snort, “Well, my name is y/n, I work as an assassin for a living, my favorite color is f/c and I _love_ a good fight.”

“At least that's something we have in common. You can hold your own, I like that,” Diego points at you, a genuine smirk on his face for the first time since you've met him.

“Do they teach you how to do all of that where you work?” Luther asks, having to sidestep a woman coming out of a shop.

“They sure do, every last grueling second of it. I'm sure you guys probably had the same experience,” you turn back around, not wanting to crash into anyone.

There's a pause in conversation before Diego speaks up, “How much do you know about us? Five isn't what you would call a chatterbox.”

“Not much, if I'm being honest. I just know that your dad forced you all to fight at a young age, and that it wasn't all that fun,” you busy yourself with fixing the waistband of your skirt as you talk, being a bit wider than Allison makes it try to roll on your waist.

“Well that's more than I was expecting to hear,” Luther says, giving his brother a look, “But glad to know he didn't forget about us in his new crazy life.”

You looked back at him over your shoulder, a knowing smile on your face. It's not your truth to tell, but you know that Five was spending every waking moment trying to get back to his family with you.

“What about you? Any crazy family members on your end?” Diego asks.

“No.”

There's silence behind you and your ears pick up on the gentle traffic, the quick conversations of other citizens as you pass by them.

“None at all?” You hear Luther speak up.

“You're my only family,” you reply, just as dry as before.

The scenery around you slowly shifts from restaurants into more commercial office buildings, massive sky scrapers and big ads plastered everywhere. Staying on course with Luther's directions, it's as you're coming up to a three-way intersection that the big guy himself brushes past you, walking faster.

“This is it, he's still here, this is Five's van.”

You push forward, circling the vehicle and eyeing the ad for a plumbing company on the side. You can't help but feel your heart rate pick up at the thought of seeing him again, but as you get closer and try opening the door, you notice it's been completely abandoned and he's nowhere to be found. You're about to elbow the window open when a hand stops you and pulls you back, Diego giving you an incredulous look as he pulls out a lock pin. You step back and let him open it up, all three of you colliding together as you try and get into the van. There's a grunt, but you push forward again, wanting to be the one to investigate, only to smash into the other men once more.

“He's my husband,” you grunt and shove them away, climbing inside and checking the driver's seat for anything useful.

Diego unlocks the back and they both fight for space inside the car, tossing different plumbing repair tools back and forth. You check the glove department, beneath the seats, all the cracks between and underneath the floor-mats but find nothing at all. You curse Five under your breath, knowing he likes to do things solo and wasn't expecting you to be here, but can't he be a little more loose with his tracks for once? This is just like that time in Texas. It's as you're flipping through newspapers and contracts that you hear a whistle from the back, looking over the seat to find Diego holding a suspiciously familiar book. You gasp and reach to grab it from him, but he pulls it away from you, almost falling back on to Luther.

“Ah-ah, finders keepers. I know where Five is,” he says, opening the first page and pointing to the large stamp on the front cover.

For the first time, you see Vanya's name printed on the page and surrounded by Five's equations. The math is familiar to you, but the book itself was something you never were able to get your hands on. It makes sense now.

“To the library it is,” you mutter, watching as Luther struggles to get back out of the van.

* * *

You have such a pep in your step at the idea of getting to see Five again that the two taller men with you need to rush to keep up. You think you hear Luther ask you to slow down, but you're already through the doors and into the lobby of the library, looking up at all the multi levels of it.

“We should split up,” Luther says, once he's finally at your side.

“Wow. Good thinking,” Diego replies, going hard left.

Luther goes hard right and you follow him, the three of you combing every corner of the first floor before coming up on the second, crossing paths to your own directions and repeating this for each floor like some scooby-doo homage. You check all the offices, unafraid of being where you're not supposed to, while they look between every aisle of shelves they find. It's on the last and fourth floor that you're coming out of an all glass-wall room to find the brothers meeting up with you in the same spot, just as mildly irritated when you all started.

“Anything?” Luther asks the two of you and you just shake your head.

“No,” Diego replies, holding onto the banister and looking down at the lobby below.

You groan and run a hand through your hair, resting the other on your hip as you turn in circles.

 _That bastard, leaving me all alone to deal with our crazy ass family, I knew I should have come with him in the first place, I knew it!_ By the time you turn around to talk to Diego and Luther, they're already in the middle of another passive-aggressive conversation.

“Boys. Really?” They both turn to you and thankfully, it doesn't get physical this time. You fold your arms and wait for them to move on, but Diego speaks up.

“Look, if you wanna blame me, blame us for leaving...that's okay,” he starts, “but maybe you're asking the wrong question. Maybe it's not about why we left. Maybe it's about why you stayed.”

“I stayed because the world needed me,” Luther closes in on Diego and you hesitate to move in.

“You stayed because you couldn't let go of the way things used to be,” Diego says, not making eye contact.

You take a step forward to break them up, to make them focus on the bigger picture, but you hear a soft commotion nearby that is far more interesting than the two of them taking shots at one another. You make it to the glass banister before you realize it's coming from near the elevator, across the way. There's a group of workers standing there and pointing at something and as you start to make your way over, someone comes up on the elevator with a loud ding. At this moment, Diego follows you with his eyes and catches on to what you're interested in, slowly following after you and leaving the conversation with Luther in the air.

“Where are his parents?” one woman says, a hand over her mouth.

“I'm calling security,” replies another, turning on her heel and brushing past you.

There's a loud snoring when you round the corner, and you're shocked to see the closer you get the more the walls are scrawled in what you can only identify as multiple Bayesian Probability formulas and the kind of other related mathematics that get your head spinning. As you're distracted by the walls, Diego taps you on the shoulder and points in the direction of a teenager in uniform, slumped over in the corner with an arm around a bald, legless, one-armed mannequin. There are several notebooks, markers and pens on the floor along with a complete empty bottle of alcohol and the teenager is snoring away, head dropped back against the column with another just as empty rum bottle in hand.

“Is he, um...?” Luther starts, hovering over your shoulder.

“Drunk as a skunk,” Diego comments, a soft laugh under his breath.

“We should make sure he's okay, get him some water. How did a kid like that get a hold of liquor?” you say, shaking your head in disappointment at whoever happens to be this boy's guardians.

“y/n,” Luther starts before Diego sets a hand on your shoulder, cutting his brother off.

“We need to tell you something, champ.”

You raise a brow, turning around to face them, but Diego turns you back around to face the teenager and now you're even more confused. Sure, it's an odd sight, but shit happens, right?

“That right there? That's your boy,” Diego says.

“I think I'd know if I had children running around in 2019,” you scoff.

“Y/n, that's your husband,” Luther meekly points out.

You don't think this is very funny, you also think it's a pretty shitty joke to try and play on you right now. Is this their idea of attempting to bond with you? Because it—suddenly, everything clicks. The library, the mannequin, the alcohol, the fact that you couldn't figure out why his face and uniform looked so goddamn familiar to you. He is a spitting image of the oil painting that hangs above the mantel at the academy, that's the uniform you saw the siblings' wearing on the figurines, that's your husbands _ex-wife_ , _that's your husband._

You move forward and grab Five by the lapels, trying to get a better look at him, as if this was an optical illusion. You move him around until he opens his eyes to look up at you, murder swimming in those baby blues as his hands come up to grip your wrists.

“Hey, who do you think you're touching, I'll have you know—y/n?” he slurs, a higher pitched and less raspy voice than you were instinctively expecting to hear. You already miss that nice rumble in your ear, looking at this thin and small preteen in your hands trying to blink through the alcoholic haze.

“You have some explaining to do,” you breathe, pulling him up onto his feet easier than you were expecting, stumbling when he falls right into you and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Wait, wait, wait, what are you...why are you here?” he questions, pushing away to grab onto the railing, keeping himself balanced.

“You can't be here, you were supposed to stay behind where...where it's safe! Dammit, y/n, we talked about this,” he groans, holding a hand to his head and you're just in awe of how much smaller and shorter he is than you.

“This can't be real,” you feel yourself start to hyperventilate, goosebumps all up and down your arms. You bring your hands to your face, touching at your cheeks and mouth as your shoulders begin to rise and fall with every breath, your eyes start to burn and you think you might cry with the overwhelming sensation.

A pair of hands grab onto your biceps with strength, and when you look to who's holding you—your husband, _Five_ —you see in his eyes the same thing you've always seen every time you look into them. Such raw, unconditional love, now mixed with pure sorrow.

“I'm sorry,” Five chokes out, swallowing hard and partially using you to keep him steady, “please—“ but you pull him into a hug before he can finish, not wanting to hear his apologies anymore.

Your arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders and at his full height he only comes up to your chin, his hands holding onto your shoulder blades when they used to envelop you whole. You're still breathing very hard and he attempts to soothe you in his drunken state, running his knuckles up and down your spine and you hold him closer. You ask yourself a few simple questions to try and wrap your head around what all of this means. _Do you still love him? Does this change anything? Are you mad at him?_ You pull back from the embrace and cup his smooth, round cheeks in your hands. His eyes are watery, too, but that could be from the liquor and you can't help but chuckle as you brush his bangs out of his face.

“We're gonna get through this...just like we always have,” you say, leaning in to plant a kiss on his forehead and he makes a soft gurgle before pulling away and leaning against the wall, a hand on his mouth.

He looks to you through wet lashes and hazy eyes and you can't help the chuckle that bubbles up in your chest. He's in such a sorry state, absolutely trashed, small and angry, about to up-chuck over his prissy uniform.

It's full-blown laughter after a few moments, “You look like—you look like you would bully me because you think you're better at lacrosse than I am.”

“Fuck you,” he seethes through gritted teeth, but when you look back up at him, he's smiling, dumb and goofy, his dimples on full display.

After collecting yourself, and Five, you all make your way out of the library. You respect that Luther and Diego stayed out of it, giving you two a moment that was well needed. You're carrying him in your arms bridal style, and though he's not happy about it, he's too far gone to try and really fight you on the prospect of not having to walk anywhere. You ask Diego if he'd be willing to carry Delores and now you're walking down an alleyway in the middle of the night with your thirteen-year-old husband in yours arms and his plastic ex-wife in the arms of your brother-in-law. There's a lot more conversations that need to happen—most likely some crying and yelling—but for now, you found the answers to your questions. Of course you love him, nothing will change that, and you're the happiest you've always been when you're around Five.

As you're walking down the alley, shifting Five in your arms, he rests his head on your shoulder and says, “You look good.”

You smile down at him, “Wish I could say the same for you.”

He tries to swat at you but fails miserably and just holds onto your sweater instead.

He mumbles, almost too soft to hear, “I missed you,” and you have to fight the urge to bring attention to it, knowing he's in a vulnerable place and is only this soft with you when you're alone together.

“Well,” Luther starts, actively avoiding looking at Delores, “We can't go back to the house. It's not secure. Hazel and Cha-Cha could come back at any moment.”

“My place is closer. No one will look for him there,” Diego offers, walking ahead of everyone.

Five hiccups and burps in your arms and you make a face at him, “If you throw up on me, I'm dropping you.” He just giggles in response, petting the softness of the fabric on your chest.

“You know whats funny? I'm going through puberty....twice,” he scoffs, now apathetic and resting on your shoulder once more, “and I...drank that whole bottle, didn't I?”

“Two of them,” you remark, bitterly.

“Well, that's what you do when the world you love goes bye-bye,” he says, moving around in your arms and making it frustrating to carry him, “Poof! It's gone.”

You go to ask him what he means by that before he runs a finger along your jaw absentmindedly, “What are you guys talkin' about?”

“Hazel and Cha-Cha came looking for you at the academy last night,” you say, watching as he licks his dry lips and knowing you're going to have to be the one to take care of him all night and morning.

“I hate when you drink like this, Five,” you murmur to him and he opens his eyes fully to look at you, everything about his expression is ashamed.

“I know,” he says.

“Look, we need you to focus,” Diego says, turning around and pointing at him, “How can we stop them and this...this doomsday thing you keep talking about?”

Five just looks at him in silence, a tight-lipped smile slowly over coming his face as he refuses to answer, his drunken state just making him all the more frustrating to deal with. You adjust him in your hold and sigh.

“You'll get nowhere when he's wasted, don't even try,” you say and Diego rolls his eyes.

“I just want to protect him,” Diego says to you and Five wiggles in your arms with silent laughter.

“I don't need your protection, Diego. You have any idea how many people I've killed?” Five asks, Diego looks to you and you sheepishly avoid him, knowing how high the body count really goes.

“I'm the Four fuckin' Horsemen,” he jerks and you have to lean back to keep him from falling, “and the apocalypse is coming!”

“Alright, calm down, edge-lord,” you can't help but laugh at how dramatic he always is, that stubborn cocky attitude you've grown fond of.

“You love it,” he grins, teeth and narcissism bared to you and you roll your eyes with affection.

It turns to acidic hatred when he whips around and vomits right onto the floor, barely missing your skirt but not saving the bottoms of your sneakers. You look to Luther and Diego and your eyes are just daring them to make a comment about it and despite your capabilities to murder them, they're both terrible at fighting back laughter.


	5. Number Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy, this took a bit to come out, didn't it? Sorry about that, I'm moving across the country. Plus, I ended up rewriting this entirely, and I'm doing my best to get the dynamic down between Five and Reader that I'm looking for.
> 
> That being said, I hope you guys enjoy this one!! Thank you SO much to everyone who keeps giving Kudos and coming back to read this work. It's really what makes it feel worth it to push and get these long chapters out. ❤️
> 
> ☂️

You jerk in place and gasp for air, startled by your own body waking up. When had you fallen asleep? How long has it been? You scramble to hold onto the chair and grab at your knife when a warm hand rests on your bare knee, squeezing it tightly.

“Hey,” Five says, looking over you.

Your chest is heaving slightly as you grab your bearings, memories flooding back into you and rationality pulling you into place. You nod slowly and let go of your blade, moving to sit up on the bed. You realize it's daylight outside now, Five is up and Luther is here as well, looking grim and silent from his seat on an ottoman, Diego nowhere to be found. You gently rest your hand on his and squeeze his fingers. You share a mutual moment of reassurance. Five moves away, shuffling back toward the edge where you assume he was before you woke up. You want to ask why he didn't wake you first thing, but knowing Five, he probably wanted you to rest as much as possible, knowing whats to come would not be pretty.

You're feeling very confused, shifting forward in your seat, “What's going on, where's Diego?”

“He got some news about a friend needing his help last night, he hasn't been back since,” Luther explains.

You move off the bed completely, standing up and rubbing your face with a groan. You had brought Five to Diego's little apartment underneath the boxing club, you remember that much. You tucked him into bed and—fallen asleep beside him? You're frustrated that you obviously missed a big conversation and a lot of time, but you know you were exhausted and that you can't do anything to change the fact that you fell asleep. Checking the room, the energy is extremely tense, and Five looks like he's been through the wringer emotionally. You want to start the conversation as to why you're here in the first place, but the door to the basement slams open, Diego marching through at a quick and angry pace. Luther stands immediately and starts moving toward him.

“Diego-”

“He's a piece of shit!” Diego points at Five, rushing forward.

Luther grabs him and stops him though, standing completely still even though Diego is thrashing around with his entire body.

“Get your ape hands off me!” Diego screams as he struggles.

“I can do this as long as it takes for you to calm down.”

“...fine.”

“Your husband has been busy since he's been back,” Diego says once he's back on his own feet.

You slowly turn to look at Five, wondering what damage he's managed to do in such a short amount of time.

“He was in the middle of the shootout at Griddy's,” Diego continues, “and then at Gimble Brothers, after Hazel and Cha-cha attacked the Academy, looking for _him_.”

“None of which is any of your concern,” says Five.

“It is now. They just killed my friend,” Diego chokes out, his breathing getting heavier.

You fold your arms, wincing at the loss of an innocent life. It's upsetting, but the wrong people get in the way all the time and there's no point in getting worked up over it—at least that's what your training has taught you.

“If they're here for you, why would they go after an innocent woman?” Luther asks, making sure he stays between Diego and Five just in case.

“She most likely just...got in the way,” you explain, “that's fair game. It's how we operate.”

“Well now they're my fair game, and I'm going to make the pay,” Diego turns on his heel to leave the home.

“That would be a mistake, Diego, they've killed people far more dangerous than you,” Five says, unamused.

“Yeah, we'll see about that,” is the last you he says before slamming the door behind him.

You can't help but sigh, dropping your shoulders and turning back toward the other two in the room. Five runs a hand through his hair and claps both his hands together in his lap.

“How much have you told them?” he asks you.

“What they should have known from you,” you reply, a bite to your words, “they know vaguely about the commission, the fact that we we're assassins, and the whole tale about us betraying them which is why we are now being hunted for our heads.”

He nods, a pinched smile, and you know he's not happy with you. You could care less. You're not as stingy with getting help as he is, not so conceited to think you can work alone.

“I want more details,” says Luther, dropping down into place, “from both of you. None of this 'it's not your business' crap.”

You gesture openly to Five, letting him have the spotlight to explain the situation. You grab Delores and drop her on the floor so you can sit on the chair, creating a triangle between the three of you in the room. Five scoffs at you and makes a face at your action, you challenge him with a raised brow to bring up the topic of his ex-wife, and he ignores it.

“The Handler found me in the apocalypse. Offered me the job to join there, having observed my skills and liking what she saw,” Five begins, settling back for the long-winded story.

“I accepted, getting out of that wasteland and into a place I knew I could manipulate into helping me get back home. They turned me into the perfect instrument for rehabilitation of the time continuum.”

“Or “corrections” as they call them,” you comment, thinking back to your days there, stuck in a desk watching training videos.

“Obviously I wasn't the only one, there are many others like me,” Five gestures to you, “case in point. Beings out of time, fractured, extracted from the lives that they knew.”

Listening to him brings back memories you're not sure you want. The day that the Handler came to you, your birthday, in the midst of a storm. Poetic and cliché, now that you think about it. You used to believe she was your savior, pulling you out from the situation your life had led you into, from the ledge you walked yourself up on. Five speaks of it in resentment, but you would have given anything to leave that life behind, and in the end, you had. But you're not naive enough to think that everyone who was working there had wanted to, or had really had a choice—Five himself wasn't really given much of an option otherwise.

“I don't know how the others got there,” he gives you a pointed look at this, since you've never given up the information to him. Not to say he's entitled to it, but you've kept your lips sealed about anything regarding your life before it, “but, I do know that none of them were as good as me, even y/n.”

“No offense taken,” you murmur, and you're being honest.

“I begun to plot a way to get back home. Working over all of the various formulas and patterns needed to do so, writing it all down as an indeterminable amount of time went by,” he continues, watching as Luther stands and moves over to the kitchenette in the room.

“Just, uh...you must be hungry, so...go on, keep talking,” he mutters, searching and eventually getting bread together to put into the toaster.

“At some point, I met y/n. We worked together as partners and, eventually,” he pauses, meeting your eyes,” became partners.”

“I tried to count how long we had known each other, something around three years?” you ask and Five gives a noncommittal nod.

“How did you have time for a wedding between all of...that?” asks Luther, finding a cup and filling it up with juice from the fridge.

“We didn't,” you both say together.

“We're engaged, but, we might as well already be hitched. All of that aside, when Five finally let me in on his plans, we plotted out the perfect time to put it in action, then did so,” you explain, pulling your legs up into a criss-cross underneath you.

“Although originally, you were supposed to stay there. Watch our backs and alert me of anything.” Five says.

You roll your eyes, “You know that wasn't going to last long. You're my husband, they were going to interrogate me at some point and there's no way they didn't know I was lying about your disappearance. We only had so much time before that would fall apart, and it just so happened to go to shit sooner rather than later.”

“Hazel came to the apartment and told me he was sent after you,” you say, “he went out of his way to warn me and give me more time to get the hell out of there.”

“That's why he can never move up, he always has a soft spot,” Five shakes his head.

“Just like you do, for me?”

“Not the same thing.”

“I beg to differ.”

The toaster pops behind you and Luther sets it onto the plate. Unable to find anything to put on it, he just grabs it along with the cup and walks over to Five.

“So...you were hit-men?” he asks.

“Essentially,” you reply, watching Five take the plate and set it aside, wishing he would put something other than alcohol in his body.

“I mean, there was a code, though, right? You didn't kill just anybody,” Luther sits down, asking more questions.

“No code. We took out anyone who messed with the timeline,” Five replies, staring down at the orange juice in his hands.

“What about innocent people?”

“It was the only way I could get back here.”

“But that's murder.”

“Jesus, Luther, grow up. We're not kids anymore. There's no such thing as good guys or bad guys. There's just people, goin' about their lives and when the world ends, all those people die. Including our family.” says Five with a huff at the end.

“Time...time changes everything,” you murmur into the room, fiddling with the ends of your sleeves.

There's silence aside from a metal screech outside, a vehicle driving by that catches Luther's attention. Five take a big drink of his orange juice, setting the cup on the nightstand and grabbing for the plate.

“So, whats the plan?” you ask.

“We go home,“ Five says, picking up a piece, “and we go back to the drawing board.” he takes a loud, crunching bite out of the toast.

He finishes eating, scarfing the food down and setting the plate back on the nightstand, next to the mug of orange juice with a crest on the side that reads **The Umbrella Academy**.

* * *

  
All three of you are walking in silence, the city around you bustling with life despite the time of day. Luther opted to go up front, leaving you and Five to walk side by side down the sidewalk, all the way back to the Academy. Neither of you have said a word since you left Diego's home and you're not sure of how to start the conversation to begin with. Luckily for you, Five ends up breaking the tension first.

“How long have you been here?” he asks, looking forward.

“Two days. I went to the Academy first to find you, but ended up meeting the rest of your family, instead,” you say.

“Sorry you had to do that alone,” he grumbles and you can't help the airy chuckle it gives you.

“They're actually great people when the want to be. Reminds me of someone,” you give him a nudge and he finally looks up at you, taking in your features.

“You took out the tracker?”

“Did that before I even left the building. Trashed and ditched the briefcase, too.”

“Good. Now it's just a matter of time before your own personal Operators are sent after you.”

“You think they're going to send Heather? I hope it's Heather.”

“You still hold that grudge?”

“Of course I do, she ruined my dress on purpose, and you know it.”

“I think you're just jealous that everyone liked her brownies better at the bake sale.”

“I told you not to bring that up anymore. I worked all night at that recipe and she won just because, what, she added a bit of pumpkin since it was Fall? Ugh, so tacky.”

Five chuckles, and it warms your chest to hear that sound again.

“So, hey, I've got a question.”

“I've got an answer.”

“Why are you bringing Delores with us?”

Five pauses, his hand coming up to hold onto the strap of the duffel bag with the mannequin inside.

“It's complicated,” he eventually says.

“Oh, is it? Is it complicated that you're bringing your ex-wife back to the house with us?” you push, raising a brow.

“Are you actually upset?” he looks up at you and the youth on his face just makes his smugness more prominent and irritating.

You stay quiet, looking off to the other side of the street. You smirk to yourself, loving when you get the chance to tease him.

“She can help me run through the math. This is purely business,” he explains, shifting the bag on his shoulder.

“Of course,” you say.

There's a long pause of silence as you make it past two more blocks.

“I meant it, when I gave you that out back in the sixties. You can still leave and I wont blame you," he says, breaking the silence once more.

“I'm not leaving you, Five. I'm with you, through good and bad.” you reply without hesitation, “The commission and the apocalypse don't scare me.”

He stares, searching your face and your eyes before slowly nodding, sighing and letting his shoulders slump. He smiles as he turns back toward Luther, who had stopped along the way when he realized you two weren't following him.

“I knew I picked the right one,” he mutters, and you barely hear it, but it makes you swoon as you both start back on the path to the Academy.

* * *

  
“The wallpaper is cute, by the way,” you comment, setting Delores down on a chair. The pattern of drawn children pulling wagons and playing with a dog line the walls of the room.

“Oh, shut up,” Five says, searching through his desk.

You snort and pat the woman on her bald head, dropping the duffel bag at the edge of the bed. He grabs out a box of chalk and tosses it onto his mattress, scratching at his head and spinning around in his room. You know he's going crazy, having to figure out where to go from here. He had so much of it planned that it never occurred to him to have any kind of backup—which is so like him. As much as he tries to distance himself from everyone else, Five is one of the most impulsive people you've ever met, and he'll run headfirst into a battle if given the chance. The only difference is that he'll think about what to do as he's running, but he still took the first step with an empty head.

“Are we going back to running numbers?” you ask, picking up the box and opening it to look at the white chalk inside. Some of it is used.

“I need to figure out whose death will most likely stop doomsday from happening. There's a reason we were always sent out to kill people, not save them” he explains.

You nod along and drop the box back onto the bed, “I'll go get us some coffee.”

“Thank you.”

You make your way out of the room, pausing at the doorway to take a look back at him. You're glad to have him back, no matter the body he's in now or the situation everyone has been pulled into. You know that with the two of you, and the rest of your family, you can get through this. You wouldn't call yourself an optimist, but you do like having a bit more hope in the universe than your husband does. You make it to the kitchen and end up searching for quite some time when you realize there's no coffee to be found in the entire room. You know he's going to want some, plus you already said you would get it, so with a reluctant sigh, you leave the academy on foot in search of a place to get some coffee.

It takes longer than you'd like, by the time you get to the little cafe you end up ordering four in total, knowing you'll need the energy boost. You pick up a muffin as well and say goodbye to the last of the cash you managed to smuggle with you, marching down the streets of The City with a look in your eyes that makes people step away. You'd guess you've been gone for forty-or-so minutes as you step back into the mansion and trudge up the stairs. When you round a corner, you jump as you nearly crash into Klaus, holding the tray of drinks up high so they don't knock over.

“Klaus!” you gasp.

“Oh, hey,” he grumbles, rubbing at his head.

“Oh my god,” you set the tray down on the floor so you can look him over, grabbing at his jaw and tilting his head around, “What happened to you—where did you go?”

He gently takes your hands and pulls them away, despite looking like hell, he still manages to smile tiredly at you.

“Got kidnapped, you know how it is. Listen, I gotta go,” he skirts around you as he talks.

“Wait, but you're,” you clench your hands into fists, so overcome with concern and bewilderment.

He has a tattoo now, a pair of dog tags pressed underneath his shirt. The look in his eyes and the fact that you now knew he had to have been taken by Hazel and Cha-cha, there's no doubt he went somewhere he shouldn't have. You want to chase him and help him, but you don't know if it's your place to do so or not. Instead, you just watch him stumble down the stairs, frozen in your spot and feeling a frustrating restless energy overcome you. You stoop and pick up the drinks, stomping down the hallway once more and as you're coming around, you gasp and jerk back, almost running right into Five.

“Jesus Christ, you people,” you shout, gripping onto the cardboard drink carrier.

“Come on, I have a plan,” he ignores your plight and grabs a cup right from the tray, turning around and leading you back into his bedroom.

“What plan?” you question as you follow him in, setting the tray down on his desk.

He's drinking, gulping down the hot drink and shoves a paper at you. You read it over, muttering the words to yourself.

“Wait, what?” you ask and Five is snatching the paper from your hands, setting his now half-empty cup onto the desk.

“Klaus had Hazel and Cha-Cha's briefcase, the idiot destroyed the damn thing but they don't know that,” he explains, a grin forming on his face.

“And we're going to use that against them,” you say, nodding along with him, catching on.

He slaps the paper down on the desk and picks the cup back up, moving to his bed and scrambling for a piece of chalk. You watch as he picks a random spot on the wall to begin writing on and very quickly, you lose track of whatever it is he's attempting to solve using these formulas. Instead, you grab one of your own cups, popping off the lid and blowing at the top to cool it down. You make yourself cozy, sitting on the edge of his bed and letting the rhythmic tapping of chalk soothe you. You may not be in any better of a position—in fact, it might be worse—but having Five with you just makes everything feel more whole again. Like a weight has been lifted off your chest and you can breathe properly, never-mind the fact that you're breathing in smoke.

Whenever he runs out of space in one area, he simply moves to the next blank spot and continues there without missing a single beat. At some point he finishes an entire wall, so he rushes over to the other side and its rather entertaining to watch. He finishes his first cup and is onto the second one within twenty minutes. To any outsider it would look like Five is ignoring you completely, like you could stand and leave and he would never even notice you were gone. But you know that to be the completely opposite of the truth; Five is comforted simply by your presence around him, you're his buoy in the ocean of madness he's drowning in. You know that by being here you're everything he needs right now, getting to see that you're alive and well is half of what keeps him sane.

It's why you're not jealous of Delores, you just enjoy teasing him about it. You know that while he was away from you, there was a panic in his chest that he needed to fill with his previous companion. He's well aware that she isn't real and isn't alive, but without you, what else does he have to keep him grounded? You may not be able to bounce back and forth with him when it comes to pure intelligence and academics, but that's also why he loves you. You're real, and your personality draws him to you like a magnet. You care about him, not what he can do for you, but about him and his hopes and wants. You don't judge him for his faults and no matter what you've been through you've always stayed right there where he's needed you.

You stand up and start to shuffle out of the room when he stops abruptly, crouched down by a bookshelf.

“Where are you going?” he asks, standing to full height.

“To the bathroom,” you simply reply, leaving the room.

He waits for you, tossing the chalk in his hand and taking sips from his cup. When you come back and sit down on the bed again does he finally return to his writing. You smile at this and his neediness, continuing to watch him and listen as he has a 'conversation' with Delores. No one else but you could claim that Five is clingy and needy, but you know it to be the truth. He just shows it in his own way, and would deny it until the day he died. But you like being needed and you like knowing that you can help him feel more safe and calm, just by being around him. He's got a lot more room left on the walls and something is telling you he's going to use every last inch of it before he finds what he's looking for. You resign yourself to this fate, finishing your cup of coffee right at the first hour mark.

You stand and grab your second cup, knowing you're going to need it.


	6. Great Minds Fight Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been reading your comments and gushing over them for weeks, unable to respond (due to my general awkwardness) but always coming back for the encouragement they give me. Really, seriously, you kept me going and made me just itch to get back to work on this.
> 
> Nearly a 7k word chapter and I'm already writing up the start of the next one, so a big, BIG thank you to everyone giving kudos, commenting, and even just coming back to read some more. ❤️
> 
>  **CW for this chapter —** Implied/Referenced Suicide Attempt from the Reader's perspective. Please read with care.
> 
> ☂️

“I think we've got something. It's tenuous, but promising.”  
  
You stand up on the bed next to Five, looking over where he's finally reached the last few inches of surface on his bedroom walls. He's got a list of names right under the multitudes of different equations and you have to tilt your head back a bit to read what he's looking at on the slanted wall. You can't make heads or tails of the math but you can read the names, and as you're looking over them, he continues to crunch a few more numbers, somewhere above your head. There are heavy footsteps behind you and you turn to see Luther coming into the bedroom slowly, brows furrowed in bewilderment.  
  
“What is all this?” he asks.  
  
You step off the bed onto the floor with a huff, “A probability map; One of Five's many specialties.”  
  
“Probability of what?”  
  
“Of whose death could save the world,” Five explains, tapping at the wall with his chalk, “I've narrowed it down to four.”  
  
“Are you saying one of these four people causes the apocalypse?”  
  
“We're thinking their death might prevent it,” you come up next to him as you're both looking up at Five still standing on his bed.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Five continues plugging in numbers, trying to be as specific and clean as possible in his work. His chalk in almost down to the nub as he taps and draws away, the only sound to be heard aside from the traffic outside.  
  
“I'm not following,” Luther eventually says and you sigh.  
  
“Time can be so fickle, Luther. Think... The Butterfly Effect,” you pat his arm as you say this, and he looks to you, nodding slowly.  
  
“So, all I have to do is find the people with the greatest probability of impacting the timeline, wherever they may be, and kill them,” Five says.  
  
He mutters something and steps off onto the floor between you two, rounding to his nightstand to grab a book and a pen. You watch as he starts to scribble down notes, Luther walks closer to the wall to read the names inside the circle.  
  
“Milton Greene. So who's he, a terrorist or something?” Luther asks.  
  
You make a noncommittal hum, “I looked him up, found out he's a gardener in the suburbs.”  
  
Luther whips around to look at you with wide eyes, “You can't be serious. Wait, this is madness, you guys. Listen—” but he's cut off by Five dropping the rifle case onto the bed he had sitting on the floor.

“Where'd you get that?” Luther leans over the case, watching Five open it to show the gun nestled inside.  
  
“In Dad's room. I think he used it to shoot a rhinoceros,” Five picks it up and cocks the bolt, “It's similar to the model I used at work.”  
  
You look it over and smile, “Nice shoulder fit and highly reliable. Always had a great choice in rifles.”  
  
“But you can't— This guy Milton is just an innocent man,” Luther is exasperated, his voice raising a bit.  
  
“Its basic math. His death could potentially save the lives of billions—if I did nothing, he'd be dead in four days anyway,” Five shoots back, fully loading the gun in his hands.  
  
“Luther, I know how you feel, but the end of the world isn't going to care about one man,” you try to explain, using the logic your higher ups at work had given you to justify the assassinations you carried out.  
  
“We don't do this kind of thing...!”  
  
“ _We_ are not doing anything. Y/n and I are.”  
  
“I can't let you go and kill innocent people, no matter how many lives you'll save,” Luther makes an advance and you step back away from him, remembering back to when he shoved you into the wardrobe.  
  
“Well good luck stopping us,” Five makes a jerk with his head, telling you to follow him, and you linger a bit before trailing his steps out of the room.  
  
“You're not going anywhere,” Luther huffs and grabs you by the back of your shirt, yanking you toward him.  
  
The force was completely unexpected and you tumble, tripping over your feet and crashing into him. Luther startles, surprised by his own strength and catches you by your arms to stabilize you. By the time you're back on your feet with Luther's hands on you, Five has the rifle aimed directly at his brother's forehead, a grim look on his face.  
  
“Do...not...touch them,” he spits, baring his teeth as his eyes flick from your face to Luther's.  
  
Catching on to Five's behavior, Luther decides to wrap an arm around you and use you as some form of hostage. You gasp and elbow him in the stomach, to which he takes with no reaction at all.  
  
“Put the gun down. You're not killing anyone today,” Luther almost sounds smug as he says this, one of his big hands comes up to rest on your shoulder, squeezing lightly.  
  
“You're kind of being a real asshole,” you grunt and grab his wrist, struggling and trying to get away.

On reflex, he squeezes down on you, making you gasp at the sudden loss of air. You kick at his opposite knee and make his legs buckle underneath him. As you're twisting away from his arm, you realize you've gone too far, the back of your knees smacking into the window sill and sending you tumbling out the open frame. In a matter of seconds, there's a distortion of sound and Five is holding onto you, pulling you into his chest while Luther is on the other side of the room, picking the rifle up off the floor. Five looks over your face in panic, cupping your cheeks and smoothing his hands down your shoulders. You're in shock and can only stand there, letting him dote over your safety as your physical body catches up with the rapid sensation of falling then traveling through space only to land on solid ground.  
  
“Listen,” Luther huffs, standing the gun barrel-down, “I can keep doing this all day.”  
  
Five glares daggers at his brother, then sits on the bed with you, his clammy hands grab onto your wrists. His left hand reaches up to cup the back of your neck, and he presses his mouth into a thin line, the thumb of his right hand is pressing into your wrist to feel your pulse. It's a nervous habit he picked up on after living with you; You would catch him in the middle of the night, checking your breath and heartbeat just to make sure that you were real and alive, especially after a nightmare or a particularly harsh episode.  
  
You nod slowly, keeping eye contact with him, and you whisper, “I'm okay, hon,” and he gives a soft sigh.  
  
“I know you're still a good person, Five,” Luther speaks up and you look at him.  
  
“Otherwise, you wouldn't have risked everything coming back here to save us all,” he steps closer, his shoulders slumping, “But you're not on your own anymore. You have Y/n and you have us.”  
  
You hate to agree with him considering you're still in awe at Luther's ability to use you as bait for your husband, but he makes a great point. Five always thinks it's better for him to bear the burden alone, his way of protecting is to shoulder it all alone, leaving his family in the dark unknowing of what he's actually suffering from. As far as you're aware, you're one of the few people Five will ever admit to that he can struggle from time to time. He once even whispered to you that he was scared and you held his head to your chest for hours, trying to get him to feel safe.  
  
“There is one way,” Five says, pulling away from you to turn and look up at Luther, “But it's just about impossible.”  
  
“More impossible than what brought you both here?”  
  
Five looks back to you with a sigh, and you nod, pulling the paper he had written earlier out of your pocket. You unfold it to read over Five's handwriting once more, the border on the scrap of notebook paper has a little insignia in the bottom right hand-corner, underneath it reads **The Umbrella Academy**.

* * *

You roll your shoulders, tapping your foot impatiently. You decided to be the one to send the letter to Hazel and Cha-Cha at their hotel, so now you're alone in the streets while Five and Luther wait back home. Luther offered to come with as protection, but you knew with his massive self skulking around you wouldn't be able to go anywhere without getting stares. So you're here, making your way to the hotel on foot.  
  
If Five was the best The Commission had to offer in general assassinations, you were the best they had to offer in undercover work and Intel gathering. Blending in and exploiting emotions is your bread and butter. Before leaving, you snatched a few clothing items from the house to give yourself a more muted and dull appearance. You had on a pair of gray slacks, black dress shoes and a white button up with one of Five's tie's around your neck. As you make your way to the other end of the street, you smell that distinct floral and earthy perfume you've come to loath.  
  
You keep making your way forward, taking a slow deep breath in through your nose. If she's here, then her partner has to be here as well. Of course, they'd pick this moment of all moments to show up, when all you had to do was deliver a letter and go back home. You make it down a few more blocks, still smelling that perfume and feeling the presence of eyes on the back of your head. There's no point in hiding the fact that they're trailing you now and the more you keep moving the less they try to keep discreet. Cursing under your breath, you make a turn into a park, moving as casually as your anxious limbs can take you. Once you're out of the bustling crowd and into the large park, you take a look over your shoulder. Sure enough, there they are, even giving you a cheeky wave as you make eye contact. You shake your head and let out a slow breath. It's time to dance.  
  
You pass by a playground and come up to a parking lot where a bunch of teenagers are riding on skateboards attempting to perfect their tricks. You walk up to them and watch as one of the kids tries and fails to do a kick-flip.  
  
“Can we help you?” One of them asks.  
  
You hear Heather and Masato right behind you and you smile, reaching over to grab one of the boards leaning against a railing.  
  
“Sorry about this,” you say, side stepping as a boy tries to grab the skateboard from you.  
  
You hold the board with both hands and spin around, swinging it with the force of your body-weight as you crack it over Masato's head, having heard him rushing up behind you. He shouts and holds onto his head, so you take the moment to lean back and kick him in his chest, sending him tumbling to the ground. The kids gasp and move away from you as Heather comes up to you, stepping over her partner on the floor. You get a running start and drop the board, jumping on top and pushing off as hard as you can while keeping balance, watching Heather get into a sprint after you. Doing your best to weave through other people in the park, you can hear her collide into them behind you enough times to give you a bit of a lead.  
  
You just need to make it to the next street on the other side of the park, from there it's a straight shot to the motel. There's a blur of a figure bolting toward you and you just recognize Masato as he tucks and barrels right into your chest, grabbing you and knocking you off the board into the grass. You're gasping for breath as he gets up and mounts you, one hand on your shoulder and the other delivering a succession of blows to your jaw and cheekbone. Through the stinging pain, you grunt and reach for his wrist, tightening both hands around it and shoving it into his lower abdomen. He struggles and attempts to swing at you with his free hand, but you've already locked your foot around his ankle and thrust up, turning both of you over with the momentum. You deliver a swift punch to his gut, panting with the effort, and you strike your palm into his nose to bust it and get to your feet. With a kick right into the side of his head, you hop over him and take off back into your original direction, knowing he won't be down for long.  
  
The chase is on and you're sprinting through the park, regulating your breathing and keeping your eyes on the prize, but the scuffle with Masato gave Heather time to catch up with you. Before you know it, she's grappling you from behind and slamming you down into the ground and you wonder just how many times you'll be hitting the floor today. You roll and get to your feet, feeling the full body ache thrum through your nerves and you click your tongue, getting into your stance.  
  
“You of all people should know that you never cross The Commission, Agent,” She says, circling you with a glint in her eye.  
  
“Please, I was part of the reason you have that reputation,” you scoff and watch her slowly move into place, tightening your hands into fists.  
  
You take two swings at her, right then left, following her head as she moves past them. Shuffling closer, you attempt to hit your knee into her chest, but she interlocks her fingers and blocks you, shoving your leg down. She rears her left fist, aiming for your rib-cage, but you deflect her with your right forearm. You continue to block, dodge and swing at each other, evenly matched and getting more frustrated by the second. You remind yourself to stay calm, breathe, and you land a hit to her right side. Twisting and trying to kick at her, Heather backs away and turns onto her foot, using your forward drive to her advantage. She kicks you in your sternum with her heel, leaving you grunting and stumbling back.  
  
At this point, Masato is up and moving, giving you milliseconds to duck under his right hook, then his left. Turning your attention to him as the bigger hitter, you lunge forward and grab the back of his head, bending him over to deliver two hits with your knee into his oblique. Grabbing the lapel of his suit with your right hand, you tuck your left hand under his arm and twist, groaning with the effort of pulling him over your shoulder and flipping him onto the concrete. You're given no time to recover as Heather continues her assault on you and you're skittering back on your feet to miss her swings and kicks. As she throws her left leg at you, you hook it with your arm and press down on her shoulder, kicking her standing leg out from under her.  
  
With both of them on the floor, you wipe at the spit and blood dripping from your mouth, working your jaw and just hoping it won't start to swell until later. Masato rolls up onto his feet and you drop to the ground, flipping heather over and reaching your hand up under her dress to grab the pistol strapped to her thigh. Masato strikes you right in the face with his shin, kicking you down to the ground and you can't help but cry out at the force. With unfocused eyes, you get the gun fitted into your palm and fire off three rounds right into Masato's chest and shoulder. Heather jumps on top of you and grips your wrists, struggling to get the gun out of your hands. She headbutts you twice, once in the nose and the other in your cheekbone and you groan in pain.

You manage to tuck a leg up between you two and shove her off of you, just enough for you to lunge forward and tackle her to the ground instead. As you climb up onto her, you strike her with the magazine of the gun, digging your knee into her stomach right under her rib-cage. You hit her and whip her with the gun as many times as you have to until she finally stops struggling. You're panting, shoulders heaving and lungs on fire, giving yourself a moment to bask in the finality of the fight. Rising to your feet, you can't help but stare at the beaten woman below you.  
  
Do you finish her? All of your training says yes; Leaving her alive will just cause problems later. But you're growing numb to the bloodshed—tired of it, even. How much longer are you going to have to fight like this? You were growing weary of it long before you and Five left, the dream of living a cozy married life surrounded by family made your career as a Temporal Assassin feel more and more horrid and dry as time went on. You look at the gun in your hand, feel the liquid dripping down your chin and hear the shouts and screams of the surrounding citizens.  
  
Tucking the pistol back into your pants, you rummage through Masato's bloodied jacket and pull out his handkerchief, wiping your face as clean as possible and drop it into a trash-bin on your way out of the park.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Thanks,” you mumble, taking the package of frozen baby carrots from Luther.  
  
You hiss as you rest it against your jaw and cheek bone, slumping into one of the dining chairs and sighing now that you're finally able to sit and relax. He leans against the counter, wringing his hands together before just gripping at the counter top. You can't blame him when he has no idea what's really happening, what this meeting is really going to entail. Five comes stomping into the kitchen, a raised brow as he looks over you two.  
  
“Hurry it up, we're burning daylight,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets impatiently.  
  
“Give me a second,” you murmur, closing your eyes and doing your best to sink into the wood of the chair.  
  
“We don't have seconds to spare.”  
  
“Don't be so dramatic.”  
  
“Me? Dramatic? You're the one getting in a tizzy over a little fight,” he rolls his eyes, walking into the kitchen, “You've been through worse. Get up.”  
  
“Five, just let them breathe, it won't kill you,” Luther speaks up.  
  
Five glares at him and opens his mouth, but you slam the bag of carrots down onto the table in front of him.

“Lets go,” you say and get to your feet, fixing your tie on the way out of the kitchen.  
  
It's not worth arguing with him, and you know deep down that he's right. Pausing to recover will get you killed, and moving on after getting a whooping is _not_ the worst thing you've ever had to endure. But you're also running out of energy, your emotions haven't been able to come back down since you first traveled to the 60s, knowing Five was going to make the jump. Now, you're about to willingly come face to face with The Handler after not just stabbing her in the back, but downright murdering whatever there was between you two—even if it was just workplace respect. Being on her shit list is the one thing you always tried to refrain from doing. You sniff to try and clear your swollen nose as you make your way out of the house and to the car Luther and Five somehow procured.  
  
It's a long drive out to the edge of the city, Five having picked the most remote location he could find in such short notice. Some back road a handful of miles out by an old truck stop, near farmland. You're quiet during the ride there, but you can feel Five's eyes on you. He took the front passenger seat and keeps glancing at you from the rear-view mirror, his worry about you superseding his need to be subtle. About halfway there, when you've simmered down and moved past the whole ordeal, it seems he's only grown more restless. There's a metal click and you raise your head in time to catch him climbing over the center console and briefcase, grunting and kicking everything out of his way as he struggles to fit. Luther scolds him for being so distracting as he's driving but Five ignores him, dropping in the backseat right next to you with a loud huff. He fixes his blazer and cuffs, his eyes pointedly not meeting yours.

He sniffs into the silence and shakes out his arms, reaching to grab the seat-belt and fasten it into place in his new seat. You try to hide your smile behind your palm, leaning against the door and looking out the window at the passing scenery. In your peripheral, you can see Luther's brows drawn in confusion in the mirror, but you don't attempt to say or explain anything. This time, it feels like only seconds have passed until you're finally pulling up at the location. Luther pulls to a slow stop and parks the car, Five unbuckles his seat-belt and leans forward to look over the rolling farmland just outside. It's silent, but not uncomfortable, and you bring up a hand to rub at the slightly swollen parts of your face. In a moment of vanity, you try to check your face in the reflection of the window to see if you look busted up, when you can't see much distortion you let out a little sigh of relief.  
  
“You know, I never enjoyed it,” Five says into the silence of the car.  
  
You shift to look at him and Luther's eyes dart up to the mirror.  
  
“What?” Luther asks.

“The killing. I mean, I was... I was good at my work, and I took pride in it. But it never gave me pleasure,” Five explains, looking over at you, his hands clasped on his knees.  
  
Luther has turned around in his seat, looking at the two of you when Five meets his eyes.  
  
“I think it was all those years alone. Solitude can do funny things to the mind,” His eyes go foggy, staring through his brother instead of at him.  
  
You reach over and gently set your hand on top of his, causing him to blink and look over at you, searching your face.  
  
“Yeah, well, you were gone for such a long time. I only spent four years on the moon, but that was _more_ than enough. It's the being alone that breaks you,” Luther replies.  
  
“You're not alone...neither of you are, not anymore,” you murmur and both of them turn to look at you. There's a clarity that's slowly brought back to them and Five takes a thumb to rub the back of your hand in circles.  
  
“You think they'll buy it?” Luther says, moving to the next topic. He rests his arm on the briefcase.  
  
“We know that they're desperate,” you say, shifting forward and taking your hand from Five to hold onto the case, “if The Commission finds out they lost their case, it'll be their heads.”  
  
“Not to mention the fact that they'll be stuck here until they get it back,“ Five adds.  
  
“Hm. Well, I should hold onto it. In case they make a move on either of you,” Luther offers, pulling the case closer to him and you sit back in your seat.  
  
“Thanks, Lu,” you give him a small smile and his head tilts at the nickname.  
  
“Be careful. I mean, I've lived a long life, but... you're still a young man. You've got your whole life ahead of you,” Five reaches forward and pats his arm, “don't waste it.”  
  
Luther gives you another look and this time your smile is wide as you hold back an audible chuckle. Five slumps into his seat and hums to himself, gently patting his knees as you now wait for the others to arrive. Luckily—for the first time today—things are going your way and you soon hear the car engine in the distance, slowly pulling up over the road stretched out in front of you.  
  
“Here we go,” you say as you all step-out, doors swinging shut. You round the car and press your mouth into a thin line, your companions looking just as high-strung as you feel. Five stuffs his hands away and Luther tries to stand strong, briefcase in hand.  
  
The car rolls past and you can see Hazel and Cha-Cha inside as they drive a few good feet ahead of your vehicle to park on the other side of the road.  
  
“If this all goes sideways,” Five speaks up, “... I'm sorry.”  
  
You turn around to look at him and nod, hearing the doors crack open behind you. Five makes a move and starts walking closer, and not one to be left behind, you keep pace with him right by his side. Looks like Cha-Cha lost an ear somehow, looking rather dumb with only one of the side of her mask. You stop with just enough space between each other and you gesture to their heads.  
  
“These masks really necessary?” you ask, and they reluctantly take them off, just tossing them to the side.  
  
“So where is it, huh?” Cha-Cha asks, exasperated.  
  
“Wow, that's how you're going to start. You know, we can get back in our car and call it a day,” Five juts a thumb over his shoulder.  
  
“You won't make it halfway there,” Cha-Cha pulls out a gun and you resist the urge to roll your eyes as she points it at your husband.  
  
“Maybe,” Five starts, “But as I'm sure you've found out in your previous foray, my brother is not your average giant.”  
  
“He's right. You dropped a chandelier on him, got right back up,” Hazel comments, looking over your shoulder at Luther.  
  
“By the time you take us out, he'd smash your precious briefcase into a pulp.”  
  
“Probably us too, right? So how do we help each other?” Hazel is staring at you, working his jaw.  
  
You speak up, “You need to call your boss. We're gonna chat, face-to-face.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Well, I don't believe that's any of your concern,” Five says, shifting his weight on his feet.  
  
Cha-Cha sighs, “Just don't tell her about the briefcase.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
You watch as she steps away to the phone-booth nearby and you linger, looking over Hazel who also hesitates in moving away. You hate that it's come to this, that you're both hunting each other down like animals. If there was anyone in that place besides Five that you really gave a damn about, it's him, and it hurts you to be in this situation like this. There's a whistle and you pull yourself away to follow Five back to the car. He leans against the hood and doesn't take his eyes off of the two of them as you come up to Luther and cross your arms.  
  
“Now we wait,” you explain, and he just nods slowly.  
  
The wind brushes past you and you start unrolling the sleeves of your dress shirt when you can hear a bell chiming in the distance. Your eyebrows knit together as it slowly gets louder and you step around Luther to the direction of the sound, seeing a lone ice-cream truck slowly coming down the barren road. Five and Luther—and at this point, Hazel and Cha-Cha—are staring at the truck in bewilderment as well. As it gets closer, you slowly mouth the words 'Snow-pops' that sit on the car above the windshield.  
  
“Is that her?” Luther asks from behind you, but you've already seen who's inside, driving the vehicle.  
  
Klaus waves happily at you, a big smug grin on his face as they barrel through the meeting point, Diego looking rather manic in the passenger seat. Five says something, but you're too much in awe to catch it and watch as the truck kicks into high-gear, aiming right for the agents in the road.  
  
“It's a set-up!” Cha-Cha yells and whips out her gun, shooting at the three of you.  
  
Five startles and grabs you, yanking you with him as Luther gets in front of the both of you. You don't like the idea of shielding yourself with your brother-in-law, but unless you duck back into the car, there's no better spot at the moment. You can hear the bullets ricocheting off of the truck and not long after, a yell and a dull thud of it crashing into their bodies. Suddenly you feel a force slowly rolling through you, like a deep base stereo thrumming through your chest. It's a feeling you've felt before, and as you open your eyes, you and Five scan the chaos. He ducks under Luther's arm and you step out into the road; Everything frozen in space and time. Five seems a bit more lost than you, calm and collected but new to the phenomena.  
  
“Neat trick, isn't it?” She says and you turn your head to her as she stands a bit off to the side of the road, between you and Five. She smiles sharply at you and you give her no reaction. Five walks up next to you, squaring his shoulders.  
  
The Handler removes her veil and takes her sunglasses off, giving you both a once over, “Hello, Agent and Five.”  
  
She grins, “You look good. All things considered,” she gestures to him when she says this and you hold your tongue.  
  
“Good to see you again,” Five remarks, so plainly, almost bored.  
  
“Feels like you got engaged just yesterday,” she tilts her head, pretending to reminisce, “Course, he was a little bit older, then. Congratulations on the age regression by the way, very clever. Though it can't be good for the relationship.”  
  
“Ah, well, wish I could take credit. I just miscalculated the time dilation projections, and... well, you know. Here I am,” Five says.  
  
He holds his hands out and lets them drop, tucking back into his pockets. The Handler's hungry eyes comb over you with every other sentence, but you keep quiet. You soak in all of their minute movements, the twitch of Five's lip giving away his irritation, the fluctuation of Handler's tone hiding her anger. The distinct way she's attempting to project herself in a position of higher authority and Five not being able to stop tucking his hands away, a specific tick of his to protect his power, his weapons.  
  
“So, why don't you tell me what you really want?” She asks, tucking her briefcase behind her back.

“Well, I want you to put a stop to it.”  
  
“You realize what you're asking for is next to impossible, even for me. What's meant to be is meant to be,” she grins, “that's our raison d'être.”  
  
There's a movement in Five's posture, his weight shifts towards you, and you're so entwined with his motives and his body language that you're both reaching for and pulling out your handguns at the same time, pointed right at her head as she's speaking.  
  
“Yeah? Well how about survival as a raison?” Five says, an accent on the last word. You just grip your gun tighter and meet her eyes, dark and dull with her ever-growing internal impatience.  
  
“I'll just be replaced. I'm but a... small cog in a machine,” she wiggles her finger in a circle before grabbing onto her case. She makes a step towards you, tilting her head back, her haughty way of trying to look down on you.  
  
“This fantasy you've been nurturing about summoning up your family to stop the apocalypse... is just that. A fantasy.”  
  
You keep your ground and straighten your arm, making sure you're pointing right between her eyebrows. In situations like this, an unnatural calm washes over you, a detached and calculated collection of your emotions. Your husband next to you is shifting on his feet, his gun slowly lowering as a hint of apprehension forms on his face. Meanwhile, you're as still as a statue, so focused that an explosion could go off behind you and you wouldn't even blink. You see the corner of her mouth twitch in disapproval of your resilience to her condescending words.  
  
“I must say though, we're all quite impressed with your initiative, your... stick-to-itiveness, really quite... quite something,” she nods as she speaks, “which is why we want to offer you new positions back at The Commission, in management.”  
  
Five chuckles, “Sorry, what's that now?”  
  
“Come back to work for us again. You know it's where you belong,” she moves closer, your gun just a foot from touching her forehead, “Y/n, we're like family.”  
  
Some part of you, low in your gut, wants to instantly jump on the offer. It wants to go back to simpler times when you felt like you belonged, like you had a real purpose and were making a difference. People praised you, spoke to you, saw you like a real living person in The Commission. That job rescued you from a life of pain and loneliness, The Handler, with all her bitchy flaws, treated you like her own.  
  
You think back to walking out of that hospital. No one came to check you out, so on your birthday, when you finally became an adult, you checked yourself out. You got home and that night, with bare feet, you climbed the stairs of your apartment building. Cold wind whipped the rain from the thunderstorm into your body and your face once you reached the roof through the access door. You leaned over the edge, that deep sense of calm robbing your face and mind of any emotions. You climbed up on the ledge and inched until your toes were able to grip, losing feeling fast as the icy rain chilled you to the bone. That's where she found you, where she saved you. Where she turned you into a killer and used you.

Five steps in front of you, breaking you out of your thoughts, only seconds having passed as you were flooded with memories, “Well it didn't work out too well the last time," he says.  
  
You scold yourself for letting your mind slip down that rabbit hole, dropping your gun as you're now blocked by him. Seeing him jump to your protection helps ground you, reminds you that you no longer that scared little kid all alone on a rooftop. You have family and people who care about you, you have a better life and future in front of you to strive for, to fight for. You have someone who's willing to not only fight for you, but with you, and he's right in front of you.  
  
“But you wouldn't be in the correction division any longer. I'm talking about the home office. You'd have the best health and pension, and an end to this ceaseless travel. You're distinguished professionals,” she looks him up and down, “wearing schoolboy shorts.”  
  
He straightens his arm to point the gun at her more strongly, his other instinctively reaching behind him to press his palm to your belly, ready to shove you if need be.  
  
“We have the technology to reverse the process. I mean, you can't be happy, like this,” she touches the gun and slowly lowers it, hitting his weak point with her words and leaving him vulnerable. Her eyes flicker to you, as if to say the same, to insinuate you're unsatisfied with him.  
  
“We're not looking for happy,” you finally speak up, tone steady. Despite your shaken thoughts, you remain cool in the situation.  
  
She smiles and reaches out over Five's head and gently caresses your cheek, “We're all looking for happy. We can make it happen. We can make Five himself again,” you smack her hand away and recoil at the shivers running down your spine.  
  
Five sighs and turns his head, looking up and down the road. When his eyes meet yours, you're confused and worried at what he might be thinking. This was the _real_ plan? To meet whatever she's asking for in exchange for the others? To go back?  
  
“And what about my siblings?” he asks, grabbing your wrist, squeezing and begging you to trust him.  
  
“What about them?”  
  
“We want them to survive,” you speak through clenched teeth.  
  
She huffs through her nose, looking at Luther, then Diego and Klaus.  
  
“All of them?”  
  
“Yes, all of them.”  
  
She gives a tilt of her head, a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders as she unfolds her sunglasses, “Well. I'll see what I can do,” she puts them on and holds out her hand.  
  
“Do we have a deal?”  
  
“One thing,” Five says as he tucks his gun away, giving you one last look before walking down the road toward Hazel and Cha-Cha.  
  
It's silent as you place your own pistol back into your pants, feeling her eyes bore into you.  
  
“I can't wait to welcome you home,” she says beside you and you don't even grace her with a flick of your eyes towards her.  
  
Five unloads Cha-Cha's gun, throwing the ammo and the gun itself to opposite sides of the street. On his way back, he mutters under his breath and moves a bullet in the air out of its original trajectory, just far away enough to miss Luther. When he comes back and The Handler holds her hand out again, he holds his out for yours. You meet his eyes, and he's a mess, inside and out, seconds away from breaking into a sweat. You're nervous, scared and angry, and you realize he's simply reflecting exactly how you feel. But you trust him. So you take his hand, and he takes hers, and you're blinking through space and time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I do so much unnecessary research for legitimate martial arts fighting styles and specific anatomical terms for it to not really pay off that well in the end because I couldn't write a decent fight-scene if my life depended on it.


	7. No Rest For The Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to Elliot Page for coming out ❤️ As a He/They myself, it's such an inspiration and testament to strength to see him be comfortable in their skin.
> 
> That being said, as no news has come out about Vanya as a character, I'll be keeping tabs on that and making sure if the character's pronouns change, they will change in my work, as well.
> 
> I hope this chapter is up to par with the rest of the work, as we're now getting into character development and I'm more nervous about making a compelling and well written story while trying to keep as on brand with TUA as possible.
> 
> Thank you for your support!!
> 
> ☂️

Everything looks exactly the same. You don't know why you expected it to be any different, but you did. Not a single blade of grass is out of place, no routine of the other agents around you even nudges two centimeters into the wrong direction. It's making your skin crawl.  
  
“I must admit, Number Five. In all my time I've been here, I've never met someone quite like you. Hazel and Cha-Cha, for example, are talented, certainty. Your fiancé, them as well, but... they can't see the big picture. ”  
  
You hold back your tongue, an instinct in you trying to prove itself wants to claw its way out of your stomach. You know her games and you refuse to be manipulated into craving her favor—not again.  
  
“Your spunk, your enterprising spirit, well, it reminds me a great deal of myself if... I may be so vainglorious.” She says, squeezes Five's shoulder, and he watches her in silence.  
  
She said that to you, once. Said you were like her own. You sniff into the air, letting the crisp landscaping fill your lungs and remove any metaphorical taste of soot from your whirling emotions.  
  
“If things work out for you, here,” she speaks louder, now including you in the conversation, “you two could potentially make great successors.”  
  
As you step into the building, Five reaches his left arm out for you, the main lobby crowded with people. You let him place his hand on the small of your back as he guides you through, keeping you close to him, whether for comfort or security, you're not sure. The Handler removes her coat in a flourish and hands it off to the nearest low-level jockey to come by, and they obediently take it without question.  
  
“I'd like to discuss the logistics of my family's safety at your earliest convenience,” Five says, following behind the tall woman and keeping you at his side, “as well as this body replacement.”  
  
You look down at him and see the stress gathering between his eyebrows, though he attempts to play it off as best he can. You understand his eagerness to getting his old body back—and you refuse to dictate how he experiences his body-dysphoria—but you wish it wasn't such a good bargaining chip for the Handler to play.  
  
“Such chutzpah,” she says, fluffing her hair, “It's refreshing, I'll admit. Slow down, Five, all in good time.”  
  
You feel his fingers tense and gather in the fabric of your dress shirt and though you want to comfort him, you keep it professional. Your time to speak will come, when they aren't still verbally circling one another like predators.  
  
“In fact, now that you've finally agreed to work with us, you've got all the time in the world.”  
  
Five removes his hand from you and smooths down the front of his blazer, your eyes catching on his emblem, reminding you this is not home anymore, your home is **The Umbrella Academy**.

  


* * *

  


“The Commission works in support of a delicate balance between the time line of events and mankind's free will,” Handler explains, walking through the main Operator room.  
  
You look inside the briefcase room and see Jon and Ari talking inside, you remember them as they took orientation with you. You're curious as to why she's rambling, explaining everything all over again when she rests her arm over Five's shoulder and your jaw clenches.  
  
“The briefcase is no longer a part of your kit, Five. Free your mind, you're management now. One of us,” she turns her head to give you a cheeky wink and you want nothing more than to rip her arm off of your husband's shoulders.  
  
You don't understand why he's letting her touch him, but you're reminded of your internal conflict, both craving and rejecting her attention. He's got the upper hand here—he doesn't have any feeling towards her or this place whatsoever, whereas you're still tangled in the strings they placed on you years ago. You move through many more rooms and two more flights of stairs, listening to her give the grand tour of The Commission to two veterans. It's ear grating, but it's something to distract you instead of looking into the eyes of all of your former coworkers or recognizing your old haunts within the building, refusing to let memories flood back.  
  
“All of the people on this floor are case managers, each one responsible for one major event at a time,” she turns and stands off to the side of a doorway, letting you and Five crowd the space.  
  
Inside the room are nine rows of office desks that reach back farther than the eye can see, each one of them crammed with an employee working tirelessly and mindlessly. The cacophony of typewriters and voices threaten to overwhelm you, phones ringing into the unforeseeable distance. You can't imagine ever being stuck here, just a number in a chair, working your fingers to the bone until you forget what its like to live.  
  
“So many of them,” Five mumbles next to you and The Handler stands in the middle behind you.  
  
“Impressive, isn't it? Being a part of something... so grand,” she says and you turn to look at her, unbelieving.  
  
She isn't even trying to hide her condescending tone, the apathy in her words as she scans over all the people she deems fit to be under her heels. You're both part of that, and you hope Five doesn't forget it. You turn and move past her, feeling her eyes on the back of your head as she calls Five to come along, the two of them catching up to your stride.  
  
“Agent, do you know what happens whenever someone chooses the wrong path and the timeline is changed?” she asks, holding her hands in front of her waist.  
  
You swallow and speak up, looking into the rooms at all the countless employees, “The Commission gets a report from a field agent, and the reports then get sorted and assigned to a case manager, who determines whether anyone needs to be removed from the equation to assure that events happen as they should.”  
  
Five is looking up at you but you don't meet his eyes, instead locking with The Handler as she smiles approvingly at you.

“I've taught you well,” she says with a tilt to her head and a fire grows in your chest as she leads you down and into the tube room, “you should also know that based on that determination, the case manager sends instructions via pneumatic tube to Temporal Assassins, like you formerly were.”  
  
“Any queries so far?” she turns to Five, who's currently tuned in on Gloria, who's preparing tubes.  
  
“Yeah,” he mutters, looking up at her, “Who was the case manager handling me?”  
  
“Ah,” she grins, running her finger on his jaw and tapping the other side, “you mean the apocalypse.”  
  
You step forward, turning in place and putting yourself between her and Five, her steely gaze full of daggers is nothing compared to the fire-turned-molten in your chest at watching her continuously touch your husband. Five gets on his toes, looking over your shoulder and unimpressed with you but you don't budge, bigger than him and more than physically capable of keeping him away. Her face changes to a calm, happy one rather quickly, and she takes you by your wrist, walking down the hall with you.  
  
“Oh, y/n, always so cunning and protective,” she pats the back of your hand and you pull away, trying not to make a face.  
  
“Do you remember when you graduated from your training?”  
  
How could you forget? She came down to congratulate you in person, someone of her status doing such a thing was unheard of. It was for no one else but her handpicked favorite. She bought your lunch that day.  
  
“I knew you had great potential, it was just... oozing out the seams. To watch you flourish here, in our very walls, why it was almost... breathtaking,” she touches your chin, making you look at her, “I knew you wouldn't disappoint me.”  
  
You jerk your head out of her touch much more gently than you hoped, looking away from her in shame. Pooling, swirling shame that takes the molten hatred in your chest and explodes it into a sickening, ignominy stream that coats your body. You're sure your face is bright and it's only making the feeling worse, feeding back into itself as a loop. You wanted to make her proud, and she played you so easily, she didn't even need to move her fingers to make you dance on her strings. Knowing you were manipulated and it wasn't your fault doesn't make the knife stop digging into your heart. For someone so praised on their ability to ascertain and control emotions, you sure as hell feel like a cesspool incarnate.  
  
You hardly spoke another word—in fact, none of you did the entire way through to the more settled, less hectic offices. You could tell these were a higher rank than the lackeys you saw earlier, cramped into a never ending cubicle, but they still had their typewriters and soulless eyes. She leads you both to a desk in particular, the woman working so diligently she doesn't even look up at you three approaching her until The Handler speaks.  
  
“Five, Agent, meet Dot,” she says as Dot finally looks up and waves, “Dot is responsible for all apocalypse matters. In fact, it was Dot here who first flagged your appearance in 2019.”  
  
“No hard feelings,” Dot grins, looking between you both.

You know Dot. She's open and friendly, incredibly kind to you, always said good-morning and good-night as you passed in the halls. Her eyes light up in recognition of you and you nod your head at her, despite the circumstances, she personally never did you wrong. She gave you her favorite cookie recipe once, knowing you liked to bake.

“Well, you two certainty put us through the ringer. Outsmarting four of our so-called best Temporal Assassins,” she gives a fake lilt to her voice, resting her hand on your shoulder.

“If that doesn't spell _leadership material_ ,” she gets much louder, looking out into the room and making every case manager pause in attention, “... I just don't know,” she chuckles as they quickly resume their work.

“I suspect you two like a challenge,” she pulls out a chair at an empty desk and taps it for one of you to sit, “Which is why I've given you a particularly complex first case.”

She rounds the desk and shifts another chair over, a clean work space for the remaining person, two desks side by side with your names already in shiny plaques sitting unassumingly on the surface of your spaces. She picks up a red folder and hands it to Five, who begins looking through it.

“It's too bad Joseph Späh decided against sabotaging the fuel tank. It would've been so much easier,” she chuckles and stands up straight.

“Anyhoo, I know you'll both work together beautifully. Your partnership is unmatched, after all,” she grins and bares her teeth like a shark, “if you have any questions... I'll be right behind you.”

She makes her slow exist out of the room as Five gingerly sits in his chair, setting the open file down on his new desk. You grip the back of your chair and keep your feet planted where they are, watching her walk out. Five looks skeptical, and you notice one of the other managers can't stop looking over at you both, fidgeting in his seat despite typing away at his form. Five finally looks down at the red folder and begins flipping through the papers and you feel your muscles constrict in stress. You can't wait to be out of here, away from her, and away from this place. No matter how much the bittersweet nostalgia is fogging your head.

  


* * *

  


Your fingers are flying over the keys as you attempt to translate your thoughts onto the paper, using the activity to try and organize your mind. Writing or drawing are great ways of expressing one's thoughts and with Five hogging the folder of the case you were handed, you have nothing better to do. You do your best to explain what you're feeling, then list out the things you have to do and how you plan on getting them done. You remind yourself of your family back home, and why all of this is important, why you're here with Five. As you're running out of things to write about to keep you grounded, Dot leans over her desk and smiles at you, catching your attention.  
  
“Hiya, Agent. How's it going, ah, how are you?” she asks.  
  
“I must have utter silence in order to complete this task,” Five says, cutting in on the gesture. He pulls a small slip out from the typewriter he was working on and rolls it up neatly.  
  
“Oh, okay,” Dot says, sitting back in place and looking at you. You give her a shrug.  
  
She presses her fingers to the desk before leaning back over to you, attempting to whisper, “A few of us are having lunch, and I wanted to know if you—“  
  
Five slides his cabinet drawer open as loudly as possible, clearing his throat and looking at you through his lashes. It's a warning, and he taps the open drawer with a finality before pulling a canister out and setting it on his desk. His plan is in motion and you can't mess it up, not here, there's no room for error.  
  
You look back to Dot and give your best smile, “Sorry Dot, we're busy. Don't wanna fudge up our first case, you know? Gotta look good.”  
  
She nods, deflating a bit and it almost hurts you to see, but you understand the bigger picture and watch as she shrinks back into her seat. Five tucks his paper into the canister and tightens it, sliding his drawer closed. He stands and leaves the room, just like that, no word to you or to anyone else. You reach over and take the folder from his desk to skim through it, hoping that you look busy and that the irritation you're feeling isn't present. You love him, you really do, but he needs to start trusting you with information more. Withholding it from you no longer keeps you safe, it's such a nasty habit he picked up from the get-go, not telling you about the apocalypse and his plan to stop it until after your engagement. You're both in the shit, now, and keeping you in the dark only puts you in more danger. Just to play into the idea, you're thinking up of the ways you can cause the blimp to crash when Handler and Five come back through the doors. Her hand on his shoulder.  
  
“I'm sure you've all heard that Mr. Five has proven to be as adept with a pen as he was with a sword,” she starts, squeezing him into her side.  
  
His eyes are locked onto yours and you can't help but turn your nose up at him. Something about watching them together—watching her—makes a nasty, petty side of you come to the surface, and he sneers at your reaction.  
  
She pats his back, and he walks down toward his desk, “Let his effort serve as inspiration to you all. Herb! How long have you been on the Lusitania?”  
  
“Oh, uh—well, let's see, I, uh...”  
  
“Sorry? Sorry, I can't hear you.”  
  
“When I first started...”  
  
“Still can't hear you.”  
  
The lunch buzzer goes off in the distance and you flick the folder closed, lips pressed into a tight line at her public humiliation of Herb. Such a deplorable teaching method and punishment tactic, you were on the receiving end one too many times. Everyone rises at once, and they begin to shuffle out, The Handler striking up a conversation with another employee as they all file through the door. You stand yourself, dropping the red manila folder into the outgoing box on your desk and adjusting your tie.

Five gets up and takes the stack of folders from Dot's outgoing box, turning toward you as he stuffs the files underneath his vest, “You know, I've already got enough to deal with without you getting your underwear in a twist.”  
  
“That's precisely the point. You never talk to me about your plans, you're always running off without me, thinking you can do this on your own. I need to know what's going on, I can't stand being here and,” you huff, feeling petulant, “... she keeps putting her hands all over you.”  
  
“What is it you always said to me?” he begins, lowering his voice and stepping up to you, “be dedicated, be disciplined, and never let them see you break. This is just a role I need to play.”  
  
You look down at him, searching his face; His features are stoic and passive, well-trained, though you're able to see the cracks. You remember saying that to him to try and get him to hide his emotions better. Five wears his heart on his sleeve—despite what some people may think, and it took him a long time to truly master staying as level-headed as possible when deceiving. It helps that he's narcissistic with a resting bitch face, but he's known for letting his hubris get the best of him.  
  
“You won't be able to convince her, not her, she's smarter than that,” you reach up to comb a few stray hairs back into place on his forehead.  
  
“I don't need to,” he takes your hand, squeezing your palm, “... I just need you to keep supporting me.”  
  
“I always support you, Five.”  
  
“I know, and I know I don't make it easy on you either,” he hesitates before bringing your knuckles up to his mouth and giving them a chaste kiss, “which is why I don't trust anybody else but you.”  
  
You let a smile slip through, “It's because no one else can put up with you like I can.”  
  
“Exactly,” he lets go and fixes the folders under his vest, “I'm going to the bathroom.”  
  
“What?”  
  
But he's already walking away from you and you can't even bring yourself to be offended this time. You shake your head to try and clear any lingering negativity and tuck your chair back into your desk. You can't let her put you on edge like this, questioning Five and driving a wedge between you two when it matters most. He's not like her, what you have with him isn't blind trust, it's an equal acknowledgment of each other's skills. You sometimes forget that he can read you just as easily as you can read him, and he can tell when you're spiraling. You're left wondering what your next course of action should be when The Handler knocks on the open door, standing in the hallway.  
  
“Agent... forgoing lunch to finish your work again, are we? You never change,” she grins, “always such a hard worker. But, all work and no play makes y/n a dull enby. How about we eat together, in my office?”  
  
You slide your hands into your pockets and shift your weight, analyzing her features. This is a demand, not a request, and certainly not an offer. You make a few steps towards her, looking to the ground until you come up in front of her, smiling.  
  
“Like the good old days,” you say, and watch her facade falter if for just a millisecond.

  


* * *

  


The Handler slurps obnoxiously loud on her empty cup, staring directly at the two of you as she does this. You're leaned back in your seat, slumped and as relaxed as can be, one leg crossed over the other.  
  
“And that's how Phil determined that the archduke just had to go,” she concludes her story, putting her cup away.  
  
You brush a couple of crumbs off of your shirt from the sandwich you had and watch as Five sets his glass of water down on her desk.  
  
“Care for dessert?” she asks, gesturing to a bowl of candies.  
  
“I had a bad Twinkie in the apocalypse once. It kinda put me off desserts,” Five says, eyeing the bowl warily.  
  
Those are her favorite candies, the weird ones that taste like different decades. She picks one up and tosses it to you, you fumble a bit to catch it in surprise, and she smiles, pushing the bowl towards Five.  
  
“Please, indulge me. Agent always used to snag one anytime they were in my office.”  
  
Five gives you a look before sighing and taking one, you both unwrap them and eat them at the same time. You mull the candy over in your mouth as she lights up a cigarette and you wrinkle your nose at the smell.  
  
“What's that taste like to you?” she asks Five, sharing a knowing glance with you.  
  
He smacks his lips once as his eyebrows knit together, “The 1950s?”  
  
“Precisely right. Our clever metaphysics division concocted a way to perfectly distill an entire decade into a single candy. This one's modeled after the Fudge Mutt, America's favorite in 1955,” she grins as she picks it up, looking over the wrapper.  
  
“Remarkable,” Five replies, pushing the candy to one side of his mouth.  
  
“You'll be happy to know it's the very division that's building your new body. Oh, that reminds me, I have something for you,” she smiles, her face might as well be full of plastic with how fake it is.  
  
She presses the intercom, “Carla. Would you bring the boxes in, please?”  
  
As Carla walks in, she's carrying a large, flat gray box with her, setting it down on the desk. The Handler rounds to the front and leans her hips on the desk as she looks over you both.  
  
“Go ahead, open it!”  
  
Five slides the lid off, glancing at you before looking inside. You see there's a crisp uniform suit sitting folded in the box, clearly made for a bigger person than his current self.

“Clothes make the man, Five. Won't it be nice when he can actually wear it?” She nudges you with a wink.  
  
You can't deny that she's clever. Her tactics are nearly unmatched—as if her brain is only wired to use and step on people in the sneakiest ways possible.  
  
“Very soon, I assure you. They're perfecting your body as we speak.”  
  
You highly doubt that. Just another method of trying to keep him wanting, under her thumb and desperate. You reach forward and pull the lid closed, letting your eyes meet with his, and he gives the smallest of nods.  
  
“Thank you,” he says while your eyes are still locked, “it's a very kind gift,” he looks to her and pats the top of the box.  
  
“Is that a Chinese flamethrower?” he suddenly asks, turning around and pointing to the weapon mounted on display.  
  
“Good eye,” she praises, “... war. Such a fascinating concept.”  
  
He moves over to it, looking the barrel over and tilting his head. She smiles and blows her smoke away from you, “A temporary salve for a permanent human flaw,” she moves over to Five's side, “of course it's a bit easier to see from 30,000 feet. These are just some of the things I've collected from my travels.”  
  
She picks a grenade up and wiggles it, looking at you, “you remember these, don't you?”  
  
“M26's, from the Vietnam War,” you reply, remembering the day she got them back all cleaned from the labs.  
  
She grins and sets it down, reaching for a gun, “And this, the most noteworthy perhaps—My Walther Pistol. The very one Hitler used to kill himself. We're not supposed to take these kinds of things, but... he wasn't gonna use it anymore.”  
  
She gives it to him, pushing it into his chest, “Feel how perfectly balanced that is.”  
  
It pains you to watch her work her magic, no longer the one its being worked on, it's so painfully obvious. She's smooth, like an oiled up snake, decades of practice pouring from her fingertips. You can't help but worry that Five might be falling for her games, despite knowing how smart he is, she can work her way around anyone. She had you under her for years—and still would, if it weren't for him. You breathe and let him work his own magic, leaning against the desk and trying to get the candy from out between your teeth.  
  
Five looks at the pistol and feels it in his hand, “I had some thoughts I wanted to run by you. Some suggestions to improve Commission protocol.”  
  
“Mm! Shaking things up already,” she takes the pistol from him, “I admire that,” she gives the tip of his nose a little touch.

He looks over at you, almost judging you, but you don't so much as blink at the interaction this time.  
  
“Gloria. The tube operator,” He comes up next to you by the desk and you turn to face The Handler, who's now made it back to her chair, “wouldn't it be simpler if case managers were to send their own messages?”  
  
“I appreciate the thought. I really do. But everyone loves Gloria,” she chuckles, “I would never hear the end of it. She's been with the Commission family for years, she made Agent a birthday cake! And she's _so_ close to making pension.”  
  
There's a knock on the door and Dot steps inside, looking frazzled with her folders tucked to her chest, “Sorry to interrupt. May I have a moment alone?”  
  
She meets your eyes, and you don't expect to see a call for help there, your brows knitting together in confusion.  
  
“Of course! Sorry, duty calls,” The Handler says as she stubs out her cigarette, grinning at you both, “we'll continue this discussion later.”  
  
“Sure,” he says and you step forward, smiling up at her, “May I?” you ask, gesturing to the candy.  
  
“Please!” she grins and watches as you take about four into your hand, stuffing them in your pocket.  
  
You both leave together and you let your eyes linger as long as they can into the office before you're out of view.  
  


* * *

  
  
You blow your nose out into the tissue as quietly as you can, balling it up and dropping it into the trash bin. Your allergies have started now that you've been here for so long, Spring time at The Commission HQ always kicked your ass. Five smacks your arm and gestures for you to follow, having been hiding behind the wall and waiting for Dot to make her move. She moves down one of the halls and turns into the tube room, Five clicks his tongue and pulls you into a hug. You brace yourself for the blink, knowing he needs full body contact with you in order to bring you with him. As always, you lose your breath and feel the squeeze and pull at your very existence as you pop into the room, Five quickly guiding you to hide behind a dip in the rows of chutes. You can't recover as quickly as he can and you take a moment to press your eyelids and clear your brain of motion sickness.  
  
“Get this to Hazel and Cha-Cha immediately,” you can hear Dot in the background, stressing the immediate part to poor old Gloria.  
  
By the time you're back to normal, Five has already blinked behind the woman and knocked her out cold, her body falling limp to the floor. He snatches the canister from her and scurries behind the desk to open it up. You step over Gloria on the floor to try and see what he found before he can hide it from you. You're looking over his shoulder when he unravels the paper and you can't help but mutter under your breath as you read the order.

  
  
**REASSIGNMENT: PROTECT HAROLD JENKINS**.

  


Your eyes go wide as Five whips his head around to look at you, mirroring your expression. You snatch the paper from his hand and fold it up, tucking it into your pocket as he scoots forward in his seat and begins typing up new, false orders. You move around and grab Gloria by her ankles, dragging her body easily across the floor and behind the desk, away from direct sight of the door. He finishes up quickly, rolling the paper and slipping them into the two individual tubes and you take them, rushing over and quickly finding the right chutes to send them to, your hands a bit shaky as you press them inside. You turn around after sending the second one, but you find The Handler, standing in the office.  
  
“You know that's not how we do things here,” she says, holding her hands out, “Where's Gloria?”  
  
“Don't know, couldn't find her anywhere,” you say, giving her a big, bright smile. Her mouth twitches at the sight of you, and she turns when she hears Gloria groaning from the floor.  
  
She looks past Five at you and slowly shakes her head, a grimace on her face, “You're a great disappointment to me.”  
  
Your smile fades. You weren't expecting that to hurt. It wasn't supposed to make your knees weak, and the child in you—the one stuck on that rooftop—grips you in fear at such a simple statement. Five takes a step back and latches his hand to your wrist, gripping as tight as he can and the sensation roots you in the present.  
  
“You can't change what's to come. I truly find it so odd that you can't shed this fantasy. You're a first-rate pragmatist, you belong here with us!”  
  
“We don't belong anywhere, thanks to you,” Five says, jaw clenched.  
  
“I saved you from a lifetime of being alone. You owe me, y/n.”  
  
“You used me!” you shout, everything coming to the forefront.  
  
Coming face to face with her, seeing her manipulation tactics from the other end of the barrel, slowly realizing it was all fake, right from the start; You can't lie to yourself anymore, even if it hurts. She unzips her dress and pulls out her pistol and as she aims it, Five turns in your arms and holds you tight, blinking with you out of the way of her line of fire. You don't know where you are, but you hear the gunfire loud and clear in the tightly packed halls. The alarm goes off and the ringing of the bell combined with the recorded message playing over the speakers slam into your already distorted senses. You're pressed down into the floor and you feel the distortion of the air as he blinks once more, The Handler consistently shooting at any movement she sees.  
  
“What's the rush? We're just getting started,” she says and you can see her heels as she steps past you, not noticing you where Five has hidden you behind some mail carts.  
  
“Is this how you want the last line of your reports to read?”  
  
He appears in front of her, dropping and using the two sides of the chutes to hold himself up, he looks exhausted already.

“When we're done, we're just done, I guess.” he says, visibly working his tongue in his mouth as he tries to keep his composure.

“You can't keep this up, Five. We both know that even you have a limit.” She raises her gun to him.  
  
You groan, getting onto all fours where you violently shake your head back and forth, shoving up onto your feet. She tries to fire at you, but the click of her empty gun makes you smile bitterly.  
  
Five speaking catches her attention, “I do owe a debt,” he pushes and blinks behind her, right next to you, with his arm around your waist, “but it's not to you.”  
  
He drops the M26 into your hand, lingering for just a moment to hold onto your fingers before letting go. You huff and pull the pin, looking her right in the eyes as you set it on the floor and roll it with your foot into her direction. She just stands there and watches it knock against her heel, and she curses under her breath. With a push, you're stumbling after Five, and he pulls you around the corner and pins you to the wall. For a moment, he grins manically at you, and you feel yourself returning the smile when the grenade goes off, shaking the hallway and sending bursts of flames through the open door. You've never felt better than when you're by his side, doing absolutely insane things like killing your former boss with one of her own obnoxious grenades. The Commission may have saved you from an early demise, but Five is the one that makes you feel alive. You cup his face and lean in to kiss him, toppling him over as he scrambles to hold onto you and you blink once more, ending up in the briefcase room for the last time.  
  
Reluctantly—he pulls himself away from you and grabs any random briefcase off the wall, slamming it down onto the table. As he's inputting the date and time into the lock, you reach around into his vest and grab at the other grenade, scoffing at his sleight of hand abilities. You pull the pin with your teeth and toss it into the now empty slot on the shelves, both of you rushing out of the room and startling the worker there. You wrap your hands around the briefcase and get ready to set it off when Five lingers, looking over the room and the quickly following explosion. You smack the top of it as fast as you can, but you still feel the incredible heat from the flames wash over your chest before you finally make it out.  
  
Blinking with Five and traveling with a briefcase are two very similar get distinctly different feelings. With a briefcase, its calculated and controlled; There's a pressure on your body, like laying completely underneath the heaviest weighted blanket you can buy. A fuzzy, lightheaded feeling overcomes your head like you have cotton stuffed into it and a general itchy tingle to your skin. Blinking with Five is raw and unfiltered; Like you're being squeezed in a perfect suction formed to your body, then pulled through a taffy machine. Vertigo and motion sickness are the most common for you and an assault to your ears, leaving you with muted hearing for a few lingering seconds. The full-body itch becomes more like a buzzing electric shock.  
  
This particular jump with the briefcase, however, was the worse time jumps you've ever experienced. The heat of the flames followed you through and left a singe on your skin, not enough to burn but enough to feel tender. Combine that with the dust and debris following you through, the shock waves from the blast and traveling with another person made the case struggle to find the right way to land you at your desired destination. All in all, crash landing onto the bar in the living room of the Academy seemed like the next logical step to such a shitty ride. Five landed face first onto the counter top, the wind knocked out of him as he slammed right onto the briefcase, while you fell on top of him and rolled to the floor, your right shoulder taking the brunt of your impact. Dust scatters around you and you hear Allison exclaim, but you're too busy grabbing at your own body to care.

“Am I still high, or do you see them, too?”  
  
“Five, y/n, where have you been?”  
  
You cry out as Five rolls off the counter and lands on you, he coughs and mutters an apology into your ear but the damage is already done. You hiss as you try to get up and you feel the rest of the Hargreeves picking you both up to your feet.  
  
“Are you alright?” Allison asks, holding your arm in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.  
  
“Who did this?” Says Luther, hoisting Five up by his shoulders.  
  
“Irrelevant,” Five mutters and snatches the coffee from Allison. As he's drinking it, he takes you by the wrist and pulls you over to the couch.  
  
Even in your state, you don't miss the way he's limping and favoring one side of his body compared to the other. Your shoulder is throbbing, dull and deep with pain and you all around just feel like you got hit by an explosion, so at least you're on brand. You try to roll your shoulder and gasp sharply, to which Five stops drinking and, hisses as he looks you over, forgoing his own safety checks. He's tilting your head back and forth and pressing his thumb into your clavicle when he speaks.  
  
“So, the apocalypse is in three days,” you push his hands away and stretch out despite the difficulty, and he turns around to face his siblings.  
  
“The only chance we have to save our world is, well, us.”  
  
“The Umbrella Academy,” says Luther, in awe.  
  
“Yeah, but with me and y/n, obviously. So if y'all don't get your sideshow acts together and get over yourselves, we're screwed,” he huffs, watching you as you slowly come back to normal—well as normal as you can be right now.  
  
“So what if people messed us up? Are we gonna let that define us?” He looks you in the eyes, searching them. You smile, despite it all, and shake your head at the same time as Klaus.  
  
“No. And to give us a fighting chance to see next week, we've come back with a lead,” he reaches over and digs into your pocket, pulling out the order paper.  
  
“We know who's responsible for the apocalypse,” he hands it over to Allison when she reaches out for it, watching as she opens the paper.  
  
“That's who we have to stop,” you say, voice a little hoarse.  
  
“Harold Jenkins?” Allison questions, her brows furrowing.  
  
“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?” says Diego, looking over at you two.

Five is too busy trying to drink every last drop of coffee left inside Allison's cup. You take a look at everyone and just lean against the back of the couch, letting yourself slowly slump to a sitting position on the floor.

You really want to take a shower before you go killing anybody else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my chapters have titles now, isn't that neat?


	8. It's Driving Me Insane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll continue to do little things here and there and not deviate from big story pieces, I'm eager to write for S2 at some point.
> 
> ☂️

You're startled when Five throws the coffee cup behind him across the entire living room. He grabs you by your arms and pulls you to your feet, to which you grumble and complain, but stand nonetheless.  
  
“I don't know... yet. But I do know that Harold Jenkins is responsible for the apocalypse. So we have to find him, and we have to do it now,” Five explains.  
  
“How is he connected to what's gonna happen?” Luther asks.  
  
“We don't know,” you say.  
  
“Wait, so you just know his name? That's it?” Diego nearly scoffs as he steps forward. You raise a brow at his arm in a cast, wondering what's happened while you were gone.  
  
“That's enough.”  
  
“There's probably dozens of Harold Jenkins' in the city—“  
  
“ _Well_ we better start looking, then.”  
  
“I'm sorry,” Allison cuts in, “Am I the only one that's skeptical here?”  
  
“What's there to be skeptical about?” You fold your arms, feeling the tension rise in the room. Beside you, Five grunts and shifts in place, but when you turn your attention to him, he's standing fine.  
  
“I mean, how exactly do you know all of this about what's his name?” she continues and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.  
  
“We went to The Commission HQ and stopped a message being relayed to Hazel and Cha-Cha, telling them to protect Harold Jenkins,” you try explaining.  
  
“So, he _must_ be responsible for the apocalypse,” Five finished.  
  
There's a pause as all of them take in the information, and you're hoping they just swallow it and get a move on. You haven't had enough time to really get to know them—sadly—but you know people well enough to get a vibe that they all like to play by their own rules, so while you are hopeful, you're worried this won't go over well. You're proven right when they all start talking over one another, asking a barrage of questions you've answered already or that don't really need to be answered right now. You hear Klaus mention something about his skin and Allison repeating what you heard when you first got here, that 'This is insane' and you're at your limit.  
  
“You know what's actually insane? Us. All of _you_ ,” you scoff and gesture to everybody with open arms, “A 42 year-old man is trapped in a 13 year-old's body, I've traveled in time to kill people my entire adult life, and you all have superpowers!”  
  
“Everything about us is insane. Always has been,” Five backs up your statement.  
  
Klaus lays down on the couch, curling up, “They've got a point there.”  
  
“We didn't choose this life, we're just living it. For the next three days, anyway,” Five says.

Allison shakes her head, “But the last time we tried stopping this, we all died. Why is this time any different? Why shouldn't I go home to my _daughter?_ ”  
  
“Because this time, I'm here,” Five stresses, “We have the name of the man responsible. Guys, we actually have the chance of saving the lives of _billions_ of people... including Claire.”  
  
Allison looks taken back, standing up straight, “... You know her name?”  
  
“I do, and I'd like to live long enough to meet her,” Five says, nodding.  
  
Allison swallows, giving the rest of her siblings a look.  
  
“Alright. Let's get this bastard.”  
  
You can't help but let a tired smile come through, relief rolling off your shoulders.  
  
“You had me at Gerold Jenkins,” says Diego and you can't help but laugh.  
  
“ _Harold_ Jenkins,” you correct.  
  
“Whatever. I've already lost two people this week, I'm not losing anyone else.”  
  
“And Luther?” Five looks up to him.  
  
“Uh yeah, you guys go. I'm gonna stay behind and go through Dad's files. I still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the Moon,” Luther says, so sure of himself.  
  
You never have time anymore to be surprised about the details of their family—say for instance, Luther having been on the Moon—and you just take in a breath as the information hits you. Truth be told, you don't know what the rest of the siblings' powers even are; expansion on Five's childhood past 'My Dad was terrible, and we're all supernatural' was nonexistent.  
  
Diego stops in his stride walking out of the room and turns back, “Seriously? Now you wanna make the end of the world about you and Dad?”  
  
“No. ‘Watch for threats’ that's what he told me. You think that's a coincidence? This all has to be connected somehow,” Luther tries to explain.  
  
“No, we should all stick together,” Allison says as she touches his arm, looking up at him.  
  
“We don't have time for this!” Five speaks up over them, a repulsed curl to his face as he looks at them which puzzles you.  
  
“Let's roll. I know where we can find this asshole. Klaus, you're with me,” Diego states.  
  
Klaus sits up and waves his arm, “Yeah. I—I'm good. I think I'll, uh,” he struggles to stand up and you reach out to help, which he takes.

“I think I'll pass, I'm feeling a little under the weather, so, uh...” You press your hand to his forehead on instinct.  
  
Again, there's a kindness in his eyes when he looks at you and he gently pats the side of your face, “Have fun,” he mumbles to you and saunters off into the house.  
  
“You've got to be kidding me,” is all that you can manage to say and everyone else looks sheepish but Five.  
  
He takes you by the wrist and starts walking after Diego and you mourn the loss of being able to clean yourselves up after such an ordeal. When all of this is over, you're going to force Five to take a spa day with you, and about two months off from doing literally anything. He's leaning onto his hold with you and you take note of his uneven steps, waiting until a quiet moment to ask him what's hurting. You're no fool; You can tell when someone is hiding an injury, and Five is the worst when it comes to how often he tries to lie. You slide into the back seat of Diego's car and there's a moment where Allison and Five have a stare-down of whose going to get the passenger seat. Five tries to pull the 'I'm the oldest' card, but it just makes Allison laugh, so you pull him in with you and tell him to be nice every now-and-then. He huffs as he buckles in, clenching his jaw when the belt pulls taut against his abdomen.  
  
You frown at the reaction and wait until you're a bit into the drive before leaning over to whisper to him, “What got you?”  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about.”  
  
“Don't play dumb, you're better than that.”  
  
“It's nothing to worry about, just sore from the fall.”  
  
“Sorry I'm not a more comfortable landing pad.”  
  
He snorts at this, and pushes you away to lean forward, looking out the window. You smile, but watch as he presses his hand to his side and keep a mental note to check on him. There's no visible blood on his vest or shorts, but that's not saying much, and the fact that he's walking around with a limp makes you even more suspicious of it being a full injury rather than some bruising. Five is tough, and he can take a lot, but he's only human. You lean over and press a soft kiss to his shoulder.  
  
“If you're seriously hurt, I'm going to kill you for lying to me.”  
  
You hear and feel the huff of amusement, but he doesn't respond, so you move back to your seat and keep to yourself. Since you couldn't change your clothes, you try and get comfortable by untucking your shirt and pulling off your tie, popping open a few buttons at the top of your shirt with a breath of relief. As you're wrapping the tie around your hand to stuff it in your pocket, you see stitched into the lining of the tie is the crest of **The Umbrella Academy**.

* * *

Diego pulls to a slow stop in front of one of many buildings lining the street. You peek through the window to see the sign, and are met with the sight of police officers stepping in and out of the building. The sign reads TCPD and you lean forward between the seats.  
  
“We're going to get help from the cops?” you question and Diego looks to you as he turns off the car.  
  
“I know this Jenkins dude has to have a record. Just gotta get our hands on his file,” he unbuckles his seat-belt.  
  
“And your plan is to, what, just waltz in there and ask for it?” Allison raises her eyebrow.  
  
“I know this station like the back of my hand, sis. I've spent a lot of time inside.”  
  
“ _Handcuffed_.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
You shrug and get back into your seat, deciding to let it drop and watch the situation unfold. Five has now taken off his seat-belt and moved into the middle.  
  
“Here's the plan,” Diego starts, but Five leans forward and cuts him off, “Plan? I'm just gonna blink in and get the file.”  
  
“No, that's not— You don't know the ins and outs of this place, okay?”  
  
“I literally just did this Yesterday. Well, _my_ Yesterday, not your Yesterday.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Now you roll your eyes, slinking into your seat and letting the cushion hold you. You're glad Diego seems to take good care of his car, it's rather comfy, and you might just take a well-deserved nap right here in the backseat. Five and Diego continue bickering back and forth over what to do and you close your eyes, resting your head on the window and trying to focus on the sounds of the surrounding city. It's clear to you by now that this is just the way things are going to be and having spent so much time with Luther and Diego arguing, you're no longer going to try and butt your way into the middle of anything between the siblings. At some point, Diego gets up and leaves, the door closing rocking the car slightly. There's a shuffle as Five drops back down into his seat.  
  
“You okay?” Allison asks. Something taps your knee and when you open your eyes, you find she's looking at you.  
  
“Oh, yeah. Peachy,” you smile and sit up straight.  
  
She sighs and tucks some hair behind her ear, “You both look like hell.”  
  
“Thanks,” says Five.  
  
“If there was something more going on, you'd tell us... right? At least, you'd tell me?” she focuses on you and you nod slowly.

“You know what we know,” you rub your hands together, “How has everyone else been? Klaus, Vanya?”  
  
She licks her lips, looking away from you with a soft sigh. You get the hint and lace your fingers together, squeezing your hands.  
  
“Klaus... is kind of always like that. Doesn't make it right, but... Vanya, I haven't heard from since she stormed out, this morning,” she tries to explain.  
  
“Stormed out?” Five sits up, interest piqued.  
  
“I... I messed up. In fact, I should be trying to get a hold of her,” she quickly turns and gets out of the car, leaving you and Five alone.  
  
It takes one look from him before you're both stepping out, swinging the doors closed. You follow right after Allison as she makes her way to a pay phone. You stuff your hands into your pockets and Five gives a jerk of his head, telling you to follow him. He leans against the wall of the building nearest the phone, so you do the same, doing your best not to stare or eavesdrop on the phone-call, no matter how tempting it is. You're not there for long, and as she's hanging up the phone, Diego comes right around the corner with a blue folder in hand.  
  
“You're welcome,” he says as he pulls it away from you trying to grab it, handing it off to Allison instead.  
  
You and Five try to get a better look at it while Allison flips through, but as she opens it up to the middle page, her eyes go wide.  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Harold Jenkins _is_ Leonard Peabody,” she turns the folder around to show you. You don't recognize the man at all and you're confused as to how you're supposed to draw the conclusion, but Allison is already moving back toward the car, so you follow.  
  
“Who's Leonard Peabody?”  
  
“Oh, how the tables turn,” Diego mutters behind you and you shush him.  
  
“Leonard is Vanya's _boyfriend_. I knew I felt weird about it, god, if only I had just—“  
  
“Hey, relax. We've got everything we need right here,” you pat the folder, tilting your head to look in Allison's eyes, “We can go to the bastards house. We're not gonna let him hurt her.”  
  
“We're not gonna let him live much longer, either. Get in,” Five says, dropping into the car. He's taken the passenger seat this time, so you slide into the back with Allison as Diego peals off down the road.

* * *

It's an unassuming house in a pristine, unassuming neighborhood. You remember wanting to live in a place like this as a kid, and you still kind of do, if to just get away from it all. Everyone is piling out onto the road and stalking up to the front of the house, no cars or people inside to indicate he might be home. Even if he is, it wouldn't matter. You watch Five struggle to quickly hobble around the car and you click your tongue.  
  
“Be careful, okay? We don't know what this Peabody's capable of,” Allison says as she falls in line with Diego.  
  
“Yeah, he didn't seem dangerous when I first saw him. Looked kinda scrawny,” Diego replies.  
  
“Yeah, well, so are most serial killers and mass murderers. I mean, look at him,” she juts a thumb over to Five, and he gives her a thanks.  
  
Diego steps up the stairs, cautiously checking the front door, “Good point. So, what's this guy want with Vanya?”  
  
“I don't know. How about we ask him after we kill him?” Five says, looking at you before stepping up next to Diego.  
  
“Whoa, whoa. Hey, look, I'm gonna burst through—“ Diego stops when he notices Allison is gone, “You know what? It would be nice for people just to stick to—“ then Five turns and blinks, disappearing from your side, “... the plan.”  
  
You shrug at him and move to open the door when he puts his arm out in front of you with a grunt, “Nuh-uh.”  
  
He takes a step back before charging and jumping right through the glass window in the front door and you startle, raising your arms up to cover yourself from the shards. You slowly bring them back down and look through the now shattered frame at Diego rolling around on the floor, Allison and Five walking up to him.  
  
You grab the handle and simply open the front door, stepping inside. When Diego looks back at you, you smile, “It was unlocked.”  
  
Allison tries to hide her laugh behind her mouth as Diego mutters, “Yeah, well, my way worked just fine. Spread out, yell if you, uh... you know, you're in trouble.”  
  
Five reaches up and brushes some stray shards of glass off your shoulder, “What inspiring leadership.”  
  
“One of the greats,” Allison replies, before moving up the stairs.  
  
You take this moment and turn Five around before he can run off. You give him your best 'I'm-done-with-your-shit' look you can muster, and luckily for you, Five knows that face. He frowns in response and pulls his arm away from you.

  
“Alright, cut the shit,” you point at his stomach, “This is the last time I'm going to ask. How bad is it?”  
  
He contemplates this, staring up at you in defiance and shifting from one foot to the other. Eventually, he hisses, “It's nothing I can't handle until later.”  
  
“I want to see it.”  
  
“We _don't_ have time for this.”  
  
“Your limp is getting worse and your breath is shallow,” you huff and move closer.  
  
You almost feel bad for invading his space. Almost. Rushing forward to catch him off guard, you raise his vest and shirt and you can't hold back the gasp at the nasty shrapnel wound on the right side of his stomach, blood soaking down into the hem of his shorts.  
  
“You... stupid fucking idiot,” you breathe, hands hovering.  
  
He grunts, stepping back and pulling his clothes back down, “You know, sometimes I hate how perceptive you are.”  
  
“Five, this is inexcusable, how are you even standing right now with this much blood loss...?!” You feel your levels rising and you step closer, feeling like you're towering over him, “You know, I have had it up to _here_ with this hero complex of yours—“  
  
“Guys, you need to see this,” Allison calls from the second floor, getting your attention.  
  
You step back, trying to calm down. You don't like getting mad at him. You don't like losing your grasp on yourself in general, but especially when you get mad at Five. You two almost live and breathe to protect one another, and he takes that to the extreme, deceiving you constantly about his physical well-being. He starts to walk past you and you stop him again, bending down to scoop him up into your arms, and he gasps, jerking at the pain it causes, but you do your best to ignore that.  
  
“Put me down!” he struggles, trying to twist in your arms but hurting himself further, finally lying limp.  
  
Diego walks out into the living room, turning towards the stairs but stops when he sees you, looking at Five in your arms.  
  
“What's this about?”  
  
“Five is injured. Badly. We need to get him help,” you huff and move closer, the blood now slowly seeping into his sweater vest.  
  
Diego clenches his jaw, looking his brother over, “Shit, Five, why didn't you say anything?”  
  
“Not important—gah—we have to keep going...!” He's struggling now, unable to keep it together anymore.

“Guys?” Allison comes down the stairs, holding what looks like a figurine in her hand, her brows furrowing when she sees the commotion.  
  
“I'm taking him to the car,” you grunt and turn around, fiddling with the door for a second before getting it open enough to kick it the rest of the way with your foot.  
  
“Stupid, _stupid_...” you mutter under your breath as you feel Five slowly go limp in your arms, “Why do I listen to you anymore?”  
  
“We're... we're so close,” he whispers, his eyes closing and head falling back. You choke down any rising panic, trying to open the car door but Diego is already reaching for the handle, opening it for you.  
  
“Diego, get a glass of water from the house, I need to clean the area,” you huff, doing your best to think rationally.  
  
He nods and turns back, finding Allison by the door and you hope explaining to her what's happening. Getting inside the car as carefully as you can, you move your hold on him to cradle his head on your arm. You can hear Allison and Diego talking as they walk back, but you're too dialed in on Five's exhausted face and bloodied clothing. You reach a hand up to cup his face, smoothing over his cheekbone with your thumb and letting a breath out slowly. He's a fool, but he's your fool. You want to keep him safe, but not smother him either, and you can never find the balance in that. It always feels like you're doing too much at one point and not enough the next, causing him to be laying here, bleeding out in your arms.  
  
“Here,” says Allison, holding the cup, and you thank her, lifting his shirt once more.  
  
“Jesus,” she mutters as she pours the water over the area, doing her best to clean up any dirt and blood around the wound itself.  
  
It's splashing on the edge of the car and a bit onto the upholstery, but you doubt Diego cares considering he's already getting in the driver's seat and starting the car. When she's finished, Allison just tosses the cup into the grass behind her and helps you maneuver Five into the backseat, closing the door behind you. As soon as she's fully sat down, Diego is driving, jerking away from the curb and down the street.  
  
“We're not far from the nearest hospital,” Allison says.  
  
“We can't take him there, what will the staff think of a kid with shrapnel wounds?” you shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable with his weight in your lap, “We're best going back to the academy, I can patch him up.”  
  
“You know how to fix this?” she raises a brow at you and you tilt your head, giving a noncommittal hum.  
  
“I know enough to do what I can in an emergency... he taught me how to sew up a wound with some sewing thread, once.”  
  
“We're going to an ER.”

“We're going home,” Diego finally speaks up, taking a sharp turn and making everyone careen to one side of the car.  
  
You tuck your hand back under his knees and keep him steady, not wanting to bash his head against anything if Diego is going to be driving like this the whole way. You watch his chest rise and fall in a shaky manner and can't help but get reminded of one of your first missions together. You had gotten hit in the shoulder, too distracted by watching how smoothly he took out the other guards. He waited for you and never once left your side, despite how cold and distant he had been when you met. He carried you back to where you dropped the briefcase earlier, and all the way to the medical ward. Five never visited you in the clinic, but when it came time for the next assignment, he asked if your shoulder was okay, and made sure to cover that side of you. From the beginning he was always trying to do more than he should, always trying to be the barrier between the world and those he cares about.  
  
“So, did we figure anything out?” Diego says, coming up to a red light.  
  
“You wouldn't believe,” Allison almost laughs, looking out the window, “I went up into the attic and found this crazy... _murder shrine_.”  
  
You perk up at this, “Excuse me?”  
  
She shifts, so she can look at both you and Diego, “He had all this memorabilia of us as kids—figures, posters, you name it. Every single one of them had all of our eyes and faces scratched out... he _melted_ the heads off of our toys. This was never about Vanya, this was about _us_.”  
  
“What the hell does he want with you?” you ask, shaking your head, “What the hell does he want with Vanya?”  
  
Diego steps on the gas harder, shoving back into your seat as he speeds towards the academy. You're left to stew in the silence that follows, looking down at your husband in your lap.

* * *

  
  
Allison rushes to the doors first and pushes them both wide open, letting you shuffle inside with Five. Diego kicks them closed behind you both as Allison helps you set the man down on the couch, tucking a pillow under his head. He's conscious by now, groaning when he's set down and uncurling, arms reaching to hold his stomach, but you pull them away.  
  
“He's still losing blood. What should we do?” Allison looks to you, taking her coat off and dropping it on the arm of the couch.  
  
“We need to get it out, so I need... vodka, some tweezers, uh, needle and thread, and lots of towels,” you huff, getting down onto your knees and pulling his clothes up to get a full look.  
  
“Heh, just like Barcelona...” Five mumbles to you and you shake your head, remembering that mission, too.  
  
Diego stands and slowly walks away from you all, in no rush to gather supplies. You don't have time to question what he's doing, trying to roll Five over so you have better access to the whole injury.

“This is from that blast before we traveled, isn't it?” you ask, mostly trying to keep him awake.  
  
He sighs, scrunching his nose at the discomfort, “Couldn't help myself... needed—needed to watch that place burn in hell.”  
  
You shake your head and let out an airy laugh, but are stopped when Allison sets her hand on your shoulder, “What?”  
  
“Mom,” she mutters, standing up straight. You whip your head around to see Grace walking over to you with Diego, a big smile on her face.  
  
Her smile falls when she sees Five, gathering her dress in her hands and kneeling onto the floor next to you, looking over the wound and metal stuck inside.  
  
She looks over at you, her face uncomfortably serious, “How long has he been injured?”  
  
You stutter, just trying to roll with the punches, “A good one hour and a half, maybe two.”  
  
She nods and runs her hand over his stomach, and he groans, trying to pull away from her. Grace stands up and looks between you and Diego, “Get him upstairs, and hurry.”  
  
You can't even think of any questions to ask before she's off, practically jogging up the stairs in her heels. Diego is reaching for Five's arms, so you stumble and grab his legs, following after Grace. You can hear Allison behind you and everyone is just sharing glances with one another, no one really wanting to ask the obvious. You're trudging through the house until you get to Five's bedroom where Grace is flipping back the blankets and comforters. You drop Five onto it, and she's gets to work, pulling his jacket, vest, and shirt off with ease as she addresses the injury.  
  
“Come on,” Diego says as he takes you by the wrist and pulls you out of the room, “Let her do her thing.”  
  
“She's trained for this kind of stuff?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes away from your husband.  
  
“You've got a lot of family history to catch up to, sib.”  
  


* * *

  
  
You're sitting on a plush chair near the bedroom door, twiddling your thumbs and watching as Grace begins to unroll some ace bandages, Five laying peacefully on his bed. She took care of him better than any professional, no doubt thanks to the programs running in her mind. You've yet to ask her how she's still alive, instead just being a simple observer to the chaos, like you've always been. Diego is watching with you, leaning against the door-frame in silence. There's not much to say and you don't think you could hold a conversation at this point, anyhow. It never gets any easier, constantly moving from one near death experience to another. You hear footsteps come closer, and glance up to see Allison by Diego's side.  
  
“Anything?” he asks as she's folding her arms.

“There's no answer at Vanya's place _and_ the receptionist at her music school said she was a no-show for her lessons today,” Allison explains and you can't help but squeeze down on your fingers at the news.  
  
Diego makes a quick exit from the room, and you hear Allison asking if he's okay as they move out of earshot. You're spacing out, not recognizing that the room is beginning to blur as the pattern in the carpet because all too sharp. You feel beaten down, but like you're not allowed to be at the same time. Five was right when he said you're so close to finishing this thing, to saving everything, and you can't allow yourself to collapse. Not when he already has. There's a warm hand running down your arm and you startle, looking up at Allison.  
  
“Hey, sorry. We've got a lead, another address on Jenkins' file...” she starts and you take a deep breath, rising out of your chair.  
  
She pushes you back down, however, and bites her lip, “You should stay... get some rest. Look after Five.”  
  
“I'm good to go, you don't have to worry about me,” you smile, resting her hand on hers and patting it.  
  
“Actually, I do, you're family,” she returns your smile and flips her hand over to hold onto yours, “You've been through a lot. Clearly, whatever got him, you were there to see it, and it's taking a toll on you. I... have to thank you for doing everything you guys have been doing.”  
  
She lets your hand go and stands up straight, “Just because you didn't get hurt doesn't mean you're not in as bad a shape as he is. Let Diego and I handle this while you guys relax.”  
  
You swallow hard, looking past her to Grace and Five on the bed. You talk to Five so much about knowing when to lean on others, when it's okay to ask for help. You look up at Allison and feel a peculiar feeling wash over you, like your parent is telling you its Saturday and you don't have to wake up early for school.  
  
“Okay,” you say, and she nods, patting your shoulder before leaving the room.  
  
You can hear the faint footsteps of the two of them walking down the stairs and you fall further into your seat, closing your eyes and letting your body slowly release the tension it's been holding on to. At some point, Grace gently shakes you and takes you out of the room by your hand. She leads you to an open bathroom and starts a bath for you, telling you to take all the time you need and that she would get you some clean clothes. As you're slipping into the hot water, feeling it creep all the way down to your bones, you hear a faint call of sirens outside through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I say this enough, but thank you for reading.
> 
> I'm genuinely so thankful for the support of this work, not only because it's my first in the fandom and the most consistent I've ever been on updating a work, but especially because this is a NonBinary AMAB work. They aren't nearly as common as they should be, and I got tired of not seeing any, so I'm so full of joy and passion to see others enjoying it as well.
> 
> If you're NonBinary, AMAB, or Masc Aligned, and are reading this for representation, I'm so happy I can provide this for you in any way possible. If you're not either of those, but are enjoying a different Reader perspective, thank you for taking the time to read my work. ❤️


	9. Love Me Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy with this chapter. It took so long to write, and I still don't like it. But it needed to be done.
> 
> Thank you for your Kudos. Your feedback is the biggest driving force to me, as much as the story continues in my head and I very much enjoy it there, it's fantastic to see others want to see more and enjoy it, too.
> 
> ☂️

“Pssst... Hey. Up and at 'em.”  
  
You groan and attempt to turn over, but you're stopped by a pair of arms wrapped tightly around you.  
  
“You're both super cute and all, but I have some... _big news_ , so get up.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Your disorientation is catapulted into shock as a loud, ear-piercing bell rings too closely to your head. Whoever is ringing it is doing so almost gleefully, and you react on instinct, jerking out of the arms wrapped around you and tackling the person standing by your bed. It isn't until you're on the ground that you get your bearings. Klaus tries to smile at you, though his arm is pinned awkwardly under you as you straddle his abdomen, a hand at his throat and the other holding onto his wrist, the one with the bell.  
  
“Klaus, what the hell?” you say, letting go and getting up off of him, now fully awake.  
  
“Note to self, add y/n to the list of 'people not to wake up if you don't want to get hit'” is all he says in response, standing up himself.  
  
“Get. Out,” says Five from his bed, his head tucked under his pillows, belly down.  
  
The full situation slowly dawns on you, and you remember falling asleep with Five last night after your bath. It was difficult to lay on his twin size bed, but you managed, and now Klaus is giving you quite the morning wake-up. You rub your face and groan, sitting down on the edge of the bed and letting your weariness catch up with you. That sleep was not as restful as you hoped it would be, not to mention you just wanted a few quiet moments with Five, waking up together. You should have known better by now.  
  
Klaus waved the bell around, “Sorry to interrupt, but I need you guys down in the kitchen ASAP, okay?”  
  
You can't help but glare at him, the sound piercing right into your skull so early in the morning, “On our way.”  
  
“Good!” he starts walking out, but not before ringing the bell a couple more times and leaving the bedroom door open.  
  
You take a few more moments to rub the crust out of your eyes and to crack your back, letting out a dissatisfied groan. Five is shifting on the bed behind you, pulling his head out from underneath the pillow and staring up at you with lidded eyes. He looks cute, all sleepy and fluffy hair a mess on the white pillows. You reach out and gently caress his cheek, and he surprisingly leans into the touch, closing his eyes and humming.  
  
“Are you alright?” he asks, and you almost scoff.  
  
“Me? How about yourself, Superman?”  
  
He rolls further until he's flat on his back, letting out a soft grunt. His hands move to press at his stomach, and he purses his lips as he feels around the wound.  
  
“Feels doable,” he says, “how's that?”  
  
You roll your eyes and lean over him, kissing his forehead. You'll keep an extra eye on him today, that's about all you _can_ do anyhow. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and tilt your head down down, so you're staring into his eyes, his own searching your face. You wonder what he's thinking, his face blank and still a bit tired, curiosity in his eyes as he takes in your features. His thumbs slowly move to smooth over your cheek bones, one swiping over your nose, which you crinkle, and he gives a smile at. He pulls you down to kiss you, and you close your eyes as you lean in, but he stops, holding tightly onto your face. He suddenly pushes you away and sits up, shuffling to the end of the bed.  
  
“Five?” you ask.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he says, turning away from you further.  
  
You think you know what he means, and you move to sit closer to him, simply reaching out for his hand. You hold it and wait to see if he's going to pull away, but when he doesn't, you lace your fingers together and squeeze.  
  
“Just imagining what it must look like, what _I_ must look like...” he huffs and shakes his head, pulling his hand away to try and comb down his messy bed-head.  
  
You frown, but give him his space as you say, “You look like the man that I love.”  
  
When he turns back to look at you, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes breaks your heart. You mean it, and you know that he knows that, but you also know he's going through a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions dealing with his dysphoria. You aren't going to push him for physical intimacy if he's not comfortable with it right now, or if ever. You hope you get that across without words, as you stare into his eyes and he stares back.  
  
Eventually, he turns away, “Let's go see what Klaus wants.”  
  
He smooths his hands down his pajamas, and you realize you don't remember him having them on last night. They're a baby blue, trimmed with a darker blue, and **The Umbrella Academy** logo on the left panel. You turn your head to the open doorway as you hear Klaus' bell echoing from farther off in the house.  
  


* * *

  
  
You're pulling the pot off of the burner and pouring a cup of coffee for Five when Klaus comes bouncing into the kitchen, haphazardly dropping his bell onto a counter nearby. He's far too jittery and excitable this morning, but you suppose it's better to see him like this than hurt and drunk. Luther slumps in after him, and you raise a brow at his appearance, disheveled and a pullover on with the hood dragged up over his head to hide his face. With the way his drags his feet and quietly but messily drops into his chair, arms up on the table and keeping his head low, you know he's nursing one hell of a hangover. You've seen it enough times—on yourself, others, and especially Five—to know what one looks like. You're surprised that it's Luther of all people, but you don't know as much about all the siblings as you'd like to get a judge of character, so maybe he's just one of those types.

Klaus gathers two more cups and slides them onto the table, one for him and for Luther, and gingerly takes the pot from your hands as he pours the cups full, even filling yours. You grab the cream and sugar for your own coffee, watching as Five brings his straight to his lips for a big gulp.  
  
“Now _that's_ a good cup of coffee,” he sighs, nodding his head at you in appreciation. You know just how he likes it.  
  
“Nice. Okay,” Klaus says to himself as he finishes with the pot, setting it down to the side. He doesn't sit down to drink it, though.  
  
Luther groans, “Can we get started, please?”  
  
“Anyone seen the others? Diego? Allison? No?” Klaus asks, turning in place to look at everyone.  
  
“They went to go follow a lead last night, said they found something on Jenkins' file,” you say from the rim of your cup, taking a drink once you've gotten it how you like it.  
  
“What? What did they find?” asks Five, now sitting up right in his seat.  
  
“Another address they were trying to check out, I offered to go, but they insisted I stay.”  
  
“Well, once I'm done here, we can go find them and tell them what's up,” Klaus says, rubbing his hands together, before picking up a spatula and tapping the table, making all of you cringe at the sound, “Now, listening up. There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna spit it out.”  
  
There's a long pause as he takes a deep breath, patting the spatula in his hand. He mutters a soft 'yeah' to himself as he stares off into space, and your worry for him starts to grow.  
  
“Klaus?” you ask.  
  
“I conjured our Dad last night,” he says, still staring right in-between the boys.  
  
You have to take a moment to set your cup down, holding up a pointer finger.  
  
“I'm sorry, what?” you ask, tilting your head at him. Five just reaches for his cup as Luther turns his head back and forth.  
  
“Oh, yeah, I can see the dead. It's a whole thing.” Klaus hastily explains, rolling his hand.  
  
“Okay,” you huff, just leaving it at that.  
  
“You said you haven't been able to conjure anyone in years,” Luther says from under his hood.  
  
Klaus shakes the spatula in his hand, “Ah, yes, I know, but I'm sober. Ta-da! I got clean, yesterday, to talk to someone special and then ended up having this... conversation with dear old Daddy himself.”  
  
Another silence, and you gulp down the last of your coffee, dropping the cup into the sink with a clatter. At that, Luther grunts and starts getting up from the table, saying, “Has anyone got some aspirin?”  
  
Five gestures with his cup, “Top shelf, next to the crackers.”  
  
“Hey, hey, hey. This is serious guys, alright?” Klaus says, frustrated, and he looks to you, “This really happened, I swear.”  
  
“I believe you,” you murmur, even if it's not entirely true. At this rate, you just have to take what they say about their powers at face value.  
  
“Okay, fine. I'll play,” Five sits up in his chair, “What did the old man have to say?” and he smiles condescendingly. You frown, thinking Klaus doesn't deserve all the acrimony directed at him.  
  
“Well, he gave me the usual lecture about my appearance and my failures in life. Yada yada yada. No surprise there. Even the afterlife couldn't soften a _hardass_ like Dad, right? But he did mention something about his murder, or lack thereof because...”  
  
Hold on; murder? You don't know much about their father, only that he was a major asshole, but he was killed? You're at full attention now, moving from your place by the counters to leaning over the table, eyes focused on Klaus.  
  
“... he killed himself,” Klaus whispers, losing all stream at the end. It sends a rock slamming right down in your stomach.  
  
You bite your lip, not wanting to see the looks on the other men's faces, the raw emotion there. You finally look up, only to see that neither of their faces have actually changed.  
  
Luther stands up from the table, “I don't have time for your games, Klaus.”  
  
“No, I'm telling you the truth, Luther,” Klaus moves, now trying to stop his brother, “I'm telling you the truth.”  
  
“Why'd he do it, then?” asks Five, full of more curiosity than anything else.  
  
“He said it was the only way to get us all home again.” Klaus explains.  
  
“No, Dad wouldn't just _kill himself_ ,” scoffs Luther.  
  
“Well, you said it yourself, he was depressed. Holed up in his office and room all day and night,” Five says, taking the final sip of his coffee with his brows raised.  
  
You don't know why they're being so casual about this, but you can only try to rationalize that there is no care for their father, considering what you know about him. So, you attempt to switch gears from compassion into analytical, bringing a hand up to your chin as you try to think about the situation with what little you know.  
  
“No. There weren't any signs,” Luther starts, “suicidal people exhibit certain tendencies, strange behaviors.”

“Not always,” you say, squaring your shoulders, “especially if he was the kind of man you say he is, he would know how to hide it well.”  
  
“I mean, he _did_ send Luther to the moon for no reason,” Klaus offers, looking at you.  
  
Before you can speak, Luther says, “I swear to god Klaus, if you're lying—“  
  
“I'm not, I'm not!”  
  
“Master Klaus is correct,” Pogo says, entering the room. All attention moves to him.  
  
“Regretfully... I helped Master Hargreeves enact his plan. So did Grace. It was a difficult choice for both of us. More difficult than you could ever know.”  
  
You fold your arms, your hand on your chin slides to your mouth, pressing down on your lips. Your mind whirls with all the information about the family it's taking in right now.  
  
Pogo gives a deep sigh before continuing, “Prior to your father's death, Grace's programming was adjusted so that she was incapable of administering first aid on that fateful night.”  
  
Five turns his head down, muttering, “Sick bastard.”  
  
You swallow thickly, and look over to Luther when he begins talking, “So the security tape we saw?”  
  
“It was meant to further the murder mystery. Your father hoped that being back here, solving it together... would reignite your desire to be a team again.”  
  
There's such a boiling pool of disgust and hatred swirling around your insides right now, you don't even know where to begin. What kind of man does that, not only in general, but to his own children no less? What kind of skewed mental state must you be in?  
  
“And to what end?” asks Five, raising his head.  
  
“To save the world, of course.”  
  
You scoff at the same time Klaus laughs unbelievably, “Alright!” he says, his agitation clearly rising.  
  
“First the moon mission and now this,” says Luther, shaking his head, “you watched me search for answers and said nothing. Anything else you want to share, Pogo? Any other _damn_ secrets?!”  
  
Five and Klaus overlap, trying to calm Luther down, but he ignores them, “No, I won't calm down. We've been lied to by the one person in this family we all trusted.”  
  
“It was your father's dying wish, Master Luther. I... I had no choice,” Pogo sighs.  
  
Luther steps closer, and you stand straight as he comes up to Pogo, “There's _always_ choice.”  
  
When he turns and walks away, you let yourself relax. It almost upsets you how you're reared to go every time Luther makes a move, but you can't help it after being shoved into a wardrobe and held captive like a hostage by him. The air left in the kitchen is tense, like a thick blanket has been draped over the entire room. Klaus sighs as Pogo gives you one last longing look before slowly exiting the room, and you lean back against the counter, trying to let everything sink in. Whoever their father was—although you already knew he wasn't a good man—you now know he was more than despicable. Completely reprehensible and vile, and there's so much more about their childhoods you still don't know. You wrap your arms tight around your mid-section and rack your brain for any coherent thoughts, any idea of where to go from here.  
  
“I gotta think,” Five grunts and turns in his chair, blinking out of the kitchen. You watch him go with sullen eyes.  
  
You rub your cheek and suck on your teeth, not even knowing where to begin with everything fighting for attention inside your head. It's so eerily quiet with everyone else gone that when Klaus speaks it almost startles you.  
  
“Well, _what,_ huh?”  
  
You slowly drag your hands down your face to look at him, but he's not facing you. Instead, he's looking directly at the chair next to him. He gestures to the empty air and scoffs, rolling his eyes.  
  
“You know what, I just don't wanna hear it. Excuse me for trying to do the right thing, Ben.”  
  
“Ben?” you ask, and Klaus fumbles in his seat as he turns around to you, eyes wide.  
  
“Oh, hey... forgot you were here,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly. You grimace and let the comment pass.  
  
“Who's Ben?”  
  
“Nobody,” his eyes flicker to the empty dining chair, “just a dead guy.”  
  
You slowly nod. There's so many things you want to ask, but the only thing that comes out is, “So, dead people, huh?”  
  
He snorts and visibly deflates, “Yeah. You really didn't know?”  
  
“I don't know a lot of things.”  
  
“Oh. Well,” he gestures around him, a smile coming onto his face, “Since we're spilling the truth today... guess I could tell you all about the family while I'm at it. You already know what happened to my dad.”  
  
You move forward to sit, a hand on the chair, but stop when you remember this 'Ben' person, and move to a different seat altogether.  
  
“Go on.”

* * *

You smile ruefully as you watch the amber liquid fill the small cup almost to the brim. Whiskey. A classic. You grab it and down as much of it in one go as you can, feeling the burn and the itch in your throat.  
  
“Whoa, take it easy, cowboy,” Klaus says, setting the bottle down after having just poured it for you.  
  
You set the glass upside down on the table once you're done, heaving a breath and studying the grain pattern of the wooden bar you're sat at. The Hargreeves Family History sure is a rich and wretched thing. The type of training—no, torture—that they endured, the emotional manipulation, the isolation, it's all too much. Bitterly you berate yourself for thinking you had it bad as a kid, before waving your hand in the air as if to physically throw that thought away. Don't compare trauma, you know that. You feel a burp coming up and cover your mouth, your eyes threatening to spill over with tears as you think about your sweet, caring, selfless husband and the pain he's holding within. Not only is he suffering from his Apocalypse PTSD but all the childhood baggage and pain he never got to properly deal with _because_ of the Apocalypse. You have to swallow hard and rest your forehead on the bar top to stop yourself from crying.  
  
Klaus slowly and awkwardly rubs a hand over your shoulders and gives you a few pats. You hear him sliding the bottle and cup off the table and putting them away. The clinks of the glass and the near silent shuffling of him moving around are all that can be heard in the giant, lonely mansion. You want to talk to Five, but you have no idea where he went, and haven't seen him in the good two and a half hours its taken for Klaus to spin the tale of the academy. You replay what he's told you over and over, trying to catch anything with a mental fine-tooth comb, and there are two things that have been bothering you the most since he said them. You sit up to look him in the eyes, noting just how tired he looks.  
  
“You're a conjurer of the dead,” you start, and he just stares at you, “...and your brother, Ben, died when you all were teenagers. Earlier, in the kitchen, the ghost you were talking to... you called him Ben.”  
  
“Benjamin is a common name,” he easily deflects, shrugging his shoulders, “can't tell you how many Johns I've met.”  
  
You frown and lean over the table, “I think if there's one thing everyone is tired of in this family, it's _lies_.”  
  
When he doesn't reply, you grit your teeth and sit back in place. You crack your knuckles, one by one, looking down at your hands. You're useless. No one wants to tell you anything, not your husband, not your in-laws, not even your own damn mind will clear up and tell you what's going on in your own head. You're sick and tired of constantly playing mental catch-up; always thinking and thinking and running after everybody, it's all you've done since you've come to 2019. No more.  
  
“Tell Ben I said hi, and I'm sad I couldn't get to meet him,” you slide off of the bar stool, making your way out of the main room.  
  
Klaus clambers behind you, “Hold on, where are you going?” you don't miss the side glance he gives to the empty air next to him.  
  
You make it up the first flight of stairs when you respond to him, “To actually do something instead of just sitting here thinking all day.”  
  
You're taking full strides throughout the house, remembering the way you all came in last night when you were carrying Five to his bedroom. There was an empty supply room where you helped Grace gather the medical kit and if you remember properly, Diego left something important on the desk in there in the haste of helping his mom. You hold your breath, knowing it's a long shot, but you swing the doors open with confidence nonetheless and flick the light on inside the room. To say you're relieved is an understatement—the police file is still sitting open on the desk from where Allison and Diego were checking it over last night. You're well aware of Klaus still following you like a duckling, but you rush to the desk and flip through page after page, feeling your heart rate kick up as you're just begging to see the address you need and laugh once you finally see it. You thought Diego or Allison would have taken it with them, but judging by the pen and pad thrown onto the desk, they just wrote it down and left.  
  
“Let Five know I'm leaving,” you say to the man behind you, also scribbling down the address to leave the original for him, “you guys can find me here.”  
  
“Find you where? What—“ Klaus reaches out and holds your arms, “talk to me.”  
  
“Funny, coming from you,” you bite at him and watch him physically recoil at that. It hurts, and you instantly feel guilty.  
  
“I'm sorry. We're all high-strung, and that was uncalled-for... this is the address listed on Jenkins' file that Allison and Diego were trying to find last night. I'm going after them,” you explain, taking his hands in yours.  
  
He huffs and searches your face, his shoulders sagging. He eventually throws his head back with a loud groan and starts pulling you along, “Well, we can't let you go on your own, now can we?”  
  
“We?” you question, a smile growing on your face. He just scoffs and keeps walking, but laces your fingers together as you make your way back down to the main doors.  
  
“And where are you two headed?” says Five, coming from the opposite end of the stairs before joining with you in the middle landing. He's fully dressed by now, clicking a pen repeatedly in his hand.  
  
“We're going after our dumb siblings,” Klaus says, waving his hand around “feel free to join us.”  
  
Five makes a face at you before thudding footsteps are heard, Luther coming around the corner, completely dressed as well. He looks everyone over before stepping right past you all and trotting down the stairs in a huff. You follow him and shove his shoulder, making him turn around to face you.  
  
“Diego and Allison went looking for Vanya's crazy murder boyfriend. We're going, too. You in or you out?”  
  
“Wait, what?”

* * *

“Cool, so we stole a car, and we're all on our way to... where, again?” Klaus says from the backseat, leaning against the door to try and give Luther as much room as possible.  
  
“To save the world,” says Five from the driver seat, looking surprisingly calm and collected.  
  
“Oh, is that all?”  
  
“Listen. I've been thinking. Pogo said dad killed himself to get us all back together, right? I had to jump to the future to figure out when it happened, but Dad, he can't time travel.”  
  
“Get to the point,” Luther grunts and Five chances a look at him through the rear-view mirror with a snarl.  
  
“Truth is, our whole lives he's been telling us we'd save the world from an impending apocalypse.”  
  
Klaus interjects with a hand, “Yeah, but I always thought he was just saying that to scare us into doing the dishes.”  
  
“ _Me too_. But what if the crazy bastard knew this was going to happen?” Five continues, biting his lip.  
  
“Knew how?” you ask, and he just shakes his head.  
  
“No idea. But the fact remains, his fakakta plan actually worked. We all came home. Since we're here, we might as well save the world. For that, we need everybody.” he finishes, his hands tightening around the wheel.  
  
“Great. Can we go any faster, so we can save Allison from meeting up with a murderer?” Luther stresses, but Five ignores him, and the car grows silent.  
  
You were already having issues behaving around Luther, but now, you feel like you can't even look him in the eyes. When Klaus had told you about Luther and Allison, you were horrifically confused as to how to go about the situation. Apparently everyone knows, but doesn't really talk about it, and it's uncomfortable for everyone involved. Which now includes you. You take a look at him, but he's staring out the window, features drawn taught in frustration. You get how he's feeling, knowing a loved one is in danger and just hoping you aren't too late, hoping they're okay without knowing until you finally get there. You let yourself slip into the soothing area that it's simply brotherly love driving him forward, just like it's driving Five and Klaus to hop in the car with you down this long road out of the city.  
  
And what a long road it is. It takes a while to get to the outskirts, and while it's not exactly sunset, it's later than you'd like. Diego should be with her, and Allison is no damsel, but for them to have been gone all night and morning without so much as a phone call to the academy? You couldn't just stand there idling around, chewing your nails in an anxious pace across the floor. By the time you're pulling up to the actual home itself, you're in shock to find Vanya being dragged out of the building by a man. Five slams on the breaks and the whole car jerks forward, sliding in the dirt and nearly fishtailing into the house. No one wastes anytime getting out of the car and running over to the scene, a gasp escaping you at the sight of blood on the two of them. You hear him telling her to leave and her screaming no.  
  
You're moving, rushing forward and tackling the man to the ground with your entire body weight in the doorway of the home. There's a blue flash next to you, and pure chaos ensues once you're on the ground. Luther shouting and stepping over you, Klaus trying to help you, Vanya screaming and Five trying to talk over her. The man under you is pushing at you hard, his elbow hitting you right in the nose and busting it, but you dig your knee into his stomach and bring your fist down into his cheek with all your pent-up frustration, knocking him out cold in one hit. Klaus is scrambling to get you on your feet when there is a cacophony of wailing cries around you as you finally come to realize what the hell is happening.  
  
Five is wrapped tightly around Vanya, on his knees on the floor, cradling his sister like his life depends on it. She's hysterical, apologizing over and over again, kicking at the ground and clawing at Five's arms, blood all over her hands and sweater. Five's eyes are clenched shut, his jaw tight as he uses all the strength in his preteen body to hold her back, even going as far as to hook a leg around her own, saying things to her, but you just can't hear it over the noise. Allison is on her back, in a pool of her own blood, where Luther is pulling her into his chest. He's calling for her and begging for her to look at him, to say something, anything, brushing her hair out of her face and attempting to stop the bleeding from the large gash in her neck. Diego isn't anywhere to be found.  
  
You look to Klaus, but he can't take his eyes off of his sister on the floor, shaking where his hand has now dug itself into your arm for support. You try to wipe the blood from your nose, but it keeps pouring out. The smell and taste is so strong, and you see it everywhere. Among the cries of your family, the pain and suffering, you finally let your own tears fall down your face.


	10. The Storm Before the Apocalypse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter before we finish S1. That's absolutely insane. I have never been this consistent or this far along with a work before, and I've gotta tell you, it's making me kinda hype.
> 
> I can't WAIT to get into S2, you have no idea! I hope you enjoy the soft parts of this chapter, because it's going to be pretty damn rough from here on out.
> 
> Again, thank you all for the support. ❤️
> 
> ☂️

The tires screech to a halt in the middle of the street, the entire car jerking and rocking on its chassis. All four doors open as panicked bodies pile out, scrambling across the road and up to the front doors.  
  
“Come on, lets go!” shouts Five, his arms still wrapped around Vanya as he ushers her up the stairs.  
  
Luther is carrying Allison's limp body, refusing to let go of her since you found her, and he huffs a startled, “I don't think she's breathing.”  
  
“If we don't get her upstairs, she's gonna die,” Klaus says as he helps Luther carry Allison's legs.  
  
You grunt with the effort it takes to drag Jenkins out the trunk of the car, the man still unconscious and poorly tied up with some fabric scraps from your now-destroyed cardigan you had on earlier. You let him drop to the pavement to catch your breath, hooking your hands under his armpits and dragging him with you backwards. There's more commotion behind you, and you almost let go of the man in your arms when you see Diego looking just as frazzled as you.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Where the hell have you been?” you hiss through your teeth, watching as he grabs Jenkins' legs to help haul the body inside.  
  
“In jail. Tell you about it later,” he grunts and kicks the door shut once you finally get inside. The doors of **The Umbrella Academy** slam and shake loudly.  
  
You both drop the man right to the ground once you're in and see the rest of the family rushing up the stairs, Grace coming to meet them at the very top where they overlap in attempting to explain what's wrong. You look at Diego and give a jut of your head, telling him to go after them, and he does so without hesitation. You spend the next few minutes dragging Jenkins into the nearest coat closet—which is bigger than it needs to be— and prop him up haphazardly before slamming the door closed. You take the time to grab a chair from the dining room and shove it under the doorknob, making a makeshift cell to keep him still while you finally follow after your family to see if Allison will be okay.  
  
When you walk in, Diego is on the floor and Grace is pushing a needle into his arm to start drawing blood. Everyone is gathered around Allison on an operating table, except Vanya, who's leaned against the wall and visibly shaking. Five sees you and does his best to gesture to his hands, where's he's holding the cloth to Allison's neck to stop the bleeding. You get what he's asking, and slowly approach Vanya, giving her space when she jerks to attention at your presence. She looks awful—which is such an understatement, god— and all you want to do is hug her, but you keep back. Her arms are wrapped around themselves, her hands now drying up and sticky with her sister's blood.  
  
You lower your voice and hold an open hand out to her, “Allison is going to be okay. Your mom is going to make sure of that. Let's get you cleaned up...”  
  
She shakes her head at first, mumbling 'No' and swallowing hard, before Five looks at her over his shoulder, his eyes soft. She meets them and let's out another soft sob before slowly and shakingly reaching for your hand, and you don't make a face at the feeling of her bloodied one gripping tightly onto your own. As you're taking her out of the room, everyone's eyes are on you, especially Luther, who is borderline blocking your way out. He switches from you to staring at Vanya behind you, and the darkness that clouds in his eyes rises a panic in your chest.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Vanya starts, and you push in front of her, up to Luther.  
  
“Excuse us.”  
  
He meets your eyes, staring in them blankly, and your heart-rate spikes. He wouldn't, would he? He steps aside and moves back to Allison at the table, and you can't even feel relieved, slowly bringing Vanya out into the hallway. The only bathroom you know of in this massive building is the one by Five's bedroom, so you can't help but feel awful as you have to drag her all the way over there, but she stays pliant the whole time. You ask if she'd like to take her shirt off, and its then that she becomes aware of just how much of a mess she is, combing over her reflection in the mirror. She begins to sob, and you let her, sitting patiently on the toilet and feeling a sharp sorrow grow in your chest as she clutches the sink and wails. It takes a few minutes before she's finally down to soft whimpers and raspy cries, rubbing at her face to stop the snot from running and she recoils when she smells the blood and feels the gross combination of fluids.  
  
“Y/n,” she says, but you rush to her side with a cloth, starting the water to wet it.  
  
When you hold out your hand, she gives you hers, and you start to gently clean the mess away. You have to keep changing spots on the white rag to get the whole thing done, but you manage most of it, and ask for her other hand. It's when you're slowly passing over the knuckles on her left hand that she speaks to you.  
  
“I... I lost control, everything just happened so fast,” she mutters, and you look down at her, her big brown eyes now red and tired from the whole ordeal.  
  
“I know. It's okay,” you say, switching spots on the rag again.  
  
Her eyebrows furrow, “No i-it's not okay, I... I killed her,” she whispers, and you can't help but squeeze her fingers.  
  
“Allison is alive, and she's going to be fine. Listen to me, she's _going to be fine._ I don't know what happened back there, but Vanya, you would never hurt anyone, not on purpose.”  
  
She shakes her head in disbelief, “You don't know me... I don't even know me.”  
  
“I know enough," is all you reply with.  
  
You ask if she wants to clean her face or if she'd like you to do it, and she slowly takes the cloth from you to wipe it off herself. You sit back down and suggest for her to take a full shower, that it will hopefully make her physically feel a lot better. She stays looking at herself for some time before finally nodding, and you leave the bathroom, telling her you'll be right outside if she needs anything at all. You pick at your nails and lean against the wall, feeling thankful when you hear the bathtub start filling with water. There's some commotion down the hall, and you swear you hear Klaus talking, but you refuse to leave your post by Vany's side. So, slide down to the floor, tucking your knees against your chest as you chew your nails nervously. You don't know what to think about it all. In fact, you're not thinking anything at the moment; Your head is just static, running on instinct. When Vanya knocks, you almost miss it, but you scramble to your feet and press a hand to the door.  
  
“Do you... do you think you could find me some new clothes?” she practically whispers and your heart nearly breaks.  
  
“I'm on it. I'll be right back.”  
  
You're unsure of who or where you can raid for clothing in the mansion, since yours have been given to you mostly by Allison, but you eventually come across a bedroom that is still fully furnished and filled with belongings. Hopefully your assumption that the last thing she'd want to wear is an academy uniform works out, and you can find something more casual. You can't tell who this room belongs to, but with all the bookcases packed to the brim and the dark curtains blocking out the windows, this person seems to be right up your alley. You rummage through the drawers and wardrobe to get a simple black hoodie and a pair of board shorts that look like they'll fit Vanya's smaller frame. When you come back to the bathroom, she barely opens the door and gently takes the clothing from you, just her arm visible as it snakes back inside. A few moments later, the door slowly cracks open, and you're pleased to see the clothing fits her, her hands wringing themselves into the front of the hoodie.  
  
“Where did you get these...?” she asks, her eyes drooping as she studies the outfit.  
  
“Just from one of the bedrooms, I'm sorry if its uncomfortable,” you say nervously, just wanting her to feel as relaxed as possible right now.  
  
She notices you fretting and shakes her head, her voice catching in her throat, “It's okay, these... these are Ben's clothes, our other brother... he's—“  
  
“I know. Klaus told me, it's okay.”  
  
She nods and pulls the sleeves over her hands, still shaking in her spot. You stand there, hovering, unsure of where to go from here. You're about to ask if she wants to see how Allison is doing when you're so startled you actually gasp out loud, stumbling back into the hallway. Vanya has hugged you, tightly, her arms wrapped as far as they possibly can around you. You can feel every muscle in her body quaking, shivering like she's been left out in the cold for years— blearily, you think that's not so inaccurate— and you don't hesitate to envelop her in your own arms. You comfort her, and in return, let her comfort you. You hold onto her for dear life as you both slowly rock in place. You feel the emotion crawling up your throat, and you can't help but mumble into her hair.  
  
“I'm so sorry, Vanya... I'm so sorry. It's going to be okay, I promise... it's all going to be okay. You're here now, you're home, we'll protect you.”  
  
You feel the sob wrack her body, but no more tears come as she breaks in your arms, her fingers holding so strongly onto your sides, it hurts.  
  


* * *

  
  
It's difficult to stay awake with all of her warm weight on top of you, the silent room, and her rhythmic breathing. You're struggling to keep your eyes open, your knuckles running up and down her spine as you're splayed out on the bed. You didn't know where else to take her, so you're laid out with Vanya in her old bedroom, despite the gunshot holes lining the walls. It surprisingly didn't take long for her to succumb and to finally shut her mind off, passing out on your chest, and you don't blame her. Your eyes slip closed as you lay there, wiling yourself to keep paying attention in case anything happens, because _anything_ could happen. When you open them again, Five is standing over you two, and you're unsure whether he blinked in or just walked up on you, but you're happy to see him.  
  
“Hey,” you say to him.  
  
“Hey,” he replies, not taking his eyes off of his sister.  
  
He slowly reaches out and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, his own hand slightly shaking. He then switches to you, cupping your cheek.  
  
“Thank you for taking care of her,” he whispers, and you relax at his soft and gentle tone, “get some rest.”  
  
So you do; You sleep through the whole night, holding Vanya close and refusing to let her go. When you wake up, it's because the sun is cracking through the curtains right onto your face, and you can no longer keep the light at bay with your eyes closed. You grunt and shift in place, Vanya barely moving an inch on top of you. When you open your eyes, you're confused to see Klaus, Diego and Five all standing around in front of you. You're almost embarrassed, and unsure of what to do, so you slowly try to sit up with the woman still clinging onto you like a lifeline.  
  
“Oh, here,” Klaus mumbles as he moves to help you, laying Vanya down on her own with her head on a tattered pillow, freeing you.  
  
They start walking out of the room, so you follow, closing the door gently behind you.  
  
“What's going on? How's Allison?” you mumble, trying to crack your back and feeling a kink in your neck.  
  
“Alive. She's going to recover,” Diego says, fiddling with a knife in hand, “but, mom said her vocal cords got damaged."  
  
You fold your arms and nod along, expecting that to have been the best outcome here. You look to Five and huff a breath, “so what do we do from here?”  
  
“Well, we have Harold Jenkins, that's the man you punched unconscious and locked in the coat closet last night. Nice job, by the way,” he says, and it's comical to hear how genuine he means it.  
  
“So... that's it? It's over, we're done?” Klaus asks, looking between everybody.  
  
“You see, that's too easy. There has to be something else to this, I mean, what, are we just supposed to let him starve in there and suddenly the _apocalypse_ is adverted? No,” Five speaks, but he's more so mumbling to himself.  
  
“The letter said to protect him, not to kill him,” you offer, "that really could be the solution."

Diego clicks his tongue, “So, we kill him, end of story. Any one of us could do it,” Diego sets a hand on your shoulder, “so I'm out,” he starts walking out of the room, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.  
  
“Where are you going?” asks Five, brows drawn in bewilderment, “we don't have all the pieces yet, and Hazel and Cha-cha are still out there.”  
  
“I know. I'm gonna get my things, and then I'm outta here. I got some unfinished business with those fools,” Diego replies as he steps off further down the stairs. You groan and stretch your arms above your head as Klaus sighs and spins in place, restless.  
  
“Hey, did Dad say anything about the apocalypse when you spoke to him?” Five asks, moving closer to Klaus, “any clues as to how it happened?”  
  
He shakes his head, “No. No clues. Truly _terrific_ shave... but no clues.”  
  
Five stares at him before grunting and shaking his own head, quickly making his way down the stairs. You and Klaus are hot on his heels as Klaus raises a finger to speak.  
  
“You know, come to think of it, he _did_ mention something about my potential, how I've barely even scratched the surface of my—“  
  
“How did he know about the apocalypse?”  
  
“Five, let him finish.”  
  
“Thank you, listen, this whole jumping through time thing, how did you...” Klaus steps in front of Five once you all reach the bottom of the steps, “how did you know how to do that?”  
  
“I didn't. You'd realize that if you were actually sober,” Five spits at him, and you recoil at the hostility in his voice.  
  
“Hey, I _am_ sober! I've been sober for two—almost two days now,” Klaus whines, his hands slapping down to his sides in frustration.  
  
“Yeah, two days, huh?”  
  
“It feels like 45 years.”  
  
“Who are you kidding, Klaus? I've seen you fidgeting all day,” Five seethes, and you decide to step in, baring down on him.  
  
“You of all people know what withdrawal looks like, Five. Don't pretend otherwise just because you're upset. Leave Klaus alone for once,” you huff, and you see him push against his lip with his tongue in aggravation.  
  
“Thank you!” Klaus says, exasperated, and he comes up behind you to point a finger at Five, “and you're one to talk, we're both fighting our addictions, here.”  
  
“I'm not an addict,” Five retorts.  
  
“Yeah, you are. You're addicted to a drug called The Apocalypse.”

You see Five's eyes widen in a panic, and you turn, pushing Klaus away, “Knock it off! Can't you go a single hour without tearing each other down?”  
  
“Listen, it's the first sign; Denial,” Klaus raises his hands and turns around from you, but it's too late.  
  
Five blinks in front of him and juts a finger at his chest, “You and I, we're _not_ the same!”  
  
Klaus chuckles, “I've seen that look in the eye of someone who doesn't know who they are without their high anymore. Trust me. You gotta just let it go.”  
  
You can visibly see the tension build up in Five's shoulders and face, and in one quick motion, he digs in his pocket to throw the glass eyeball across the room, shattering it on the wall. He steps around Klaus without another word, limping into the living room and heading right for the bar.  
  
“Figuratively, but yeah, that works, too,” Klaus mumbles. When you send him a look of shock, he waves you off and walks away, “one day at a time, Y/n.”  
  
You can't stand the way they treat each other. With just a bit more communication, with just a bit more understanding, everything could be completely fucking fine in this family. You're hoping for a bit more peace and quiet to gather yourself, sitting on the last with your fingers pressing to your temples. Instead, you hear clinking and thudding in the living room, and before long, a blender starts up.  
  
“Oh, hell no,” you mumble and walk in after Five to see him doing exactly what you thought.  
  
He looks at you, completely unfazed, and continues to make his batch of margaritas. You stand there and watch him expertly move about the bar top, pulling out the glasses, juice, even little umbrellas and silly straws. Eventually you just sit down and watch him go about his business, your hands wringing together on the counter top.  
  
“No comment?” he says as he starts to pour the finished mixture into the two cups. You don't reply, and he makes no sign of caring.  
  
He drops the straws and umbrellas into the drinks before rounding the table and sitting next to you. He slides the extra margarita right in front of you, adjusting the straw in your cup. With everything you could give taken from you, you slowly sip at the drink. It tastes great—as it always does when he makes you drinks. You try not to think about what time it is right now. He sits back and grunts, holding his own cup by the stem.  
  
“Well, do you really think we did it?” he asks, sipping at his own straw, “think we actually stopped the apocalypse?”  
  
“Genuinely?” you hum, looking at the lime green slush, “No.”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
You both drink, and you notice that he put some record on to play at some point. You miss the ones you used to have back in your dorm together, you two would dance all night long to his favorite hits. As you sip, you take a look at the man next to you, and wonder where to go from here.  
  
Thinking the same thing, he asks you, “now what?”  
  
“I don't know,” you say, swirling your umbrella around. You pick it up and spin it in your hand, suddenly feeling melancholy.  
  
There's a loud knock at the front door of the academy, and you both turn your heads.  
  
“Eh, I'll get it,” Five says and gets up from the bar, drink in hand.  
  
You take one last good sip from your own cup and push it away when you're done, not a big fan of day drinking. He makes it so strong. You think you should go check on Allison and Vanya, turning around in your seat, when Five comes walking back in with Hazel trailing behind him, gun at the ready.  
  
“You here to kill us?” he asks, casually sitting back down next to you.  
  
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Old habits,” Hazel says, tucking the gun into his belt. He locks eyes with you, and you feel yourself deflate, “hey there, young buck.”  
  
“Hi yourself,” you huff out, recalling the last time you saw him and the damage he'd done to you.  
  
“Though, I can understand why you two might feel like I'm here to kill you, because, you know...”  
  
Five finished sipping his drink before he speaks, “Well, you attacked our house, tried to kill my family, beat my spouse unconscious and kidnapped my brother.”  
  
“Look, there's not much I can do about the past,” Hazel stresses, looking you in the eye, “don't forget I'm not the only killer in this room. You've got your own bloody history.”  
  
You get that, and you wave it off, knowing he was just doing what he's told to do. You were there once, and not too long ago at that. It's only been about a week or so, hasn't it?  
  
“Point taken,” you mumble, and he nods.  
  
“Speaking of which... that job you both did in Calhoun, that shit's legendary. I mean, I can't believe I trained you Agent and you turned out to be so great—“  
  
“Hazel, why are you here?” Five cuts him off, sighing deeply.  
  
“Well, I'm, you know—“  
  
He's cut off when Diego comes rushing in, kicking him square in the back. You jump and Five yells at him to stop, but, the damage is already done. He's flipping around and beating the shit out of Hazel, and you can't help but watch in admiration of all of the flashy moves he's putting out.  
  
“You know, before you kill him, you might wanna hear what he has to say,” Five comments, sipping at his margarita.  
  
You just watch, and genuinely don't feel like stopping this from happening. Hazel deserves a whooping, and Diego deserves to let some tension out. Besides, you're tired of playing the mediator.  
  
“I'm gonna kill you for what you did to Patch,” Diego grunts, pulling out one of his blades.  
  
Hazel looks to you and gestures to Diego, as if you're going to do something about it, but you just raise a brow at him.  
  
“Or don't, you know, see how that goes,” Five mutters, and he leans into your side to watch the spectacle.  
  
Diego ends up stabbing Hazel right in the thigh and you and Five hiss simultaneously, “That's gotta hurt,” Five mumbles to you, and you almost snort.  
  
Hazel pulls out the blade and throws it away, but Diego does not let up the barrages of hits, backflips, and body shots. At some point, Hazel grabs both of his arms and headbutts him twice, before picking Diego up by the waist, most likely about to body slam him. Diego leans in and bites down on Hazel's ear harshly, and you flinch at the phantom pain, just watching the way his teeth sink in. Five moves off of you and hands you his drink as he blinks away, appearing on the back of the sofa and smashing a glass vase down over the back of Diego's head. He drops to the floor instantly and Hazel wipes at his ear, brushing the glass off.  
  
“Wow, really?” you call to him, and he huffs, stepping off the couch.  
  
“I draw the line at biting,” he gives you a pointed look, and you roll your eyes.  
  
“Hazel, whatever you came here to say, I suggest you make it quick, before he comes round,” Five steps over the glass, his wound still bothering him and causing him to limp around everywhere.  
  
“I left my partner, quit the commission, came to volunteer,” Hazel spits out, huffing and panting.  
  
“For what?” you ask.  
  
“To help stop the apocalypse.”  
  
Five chuckles next to you, taking his drink back, and you make a face at how quickly he's sucking the margarita down.  
  
Hazel looks to you, “What on earth could be so funny to him right now?”  
  
“Before we answer you, why do you wanna help us?” Five asks.  
  
“Let's just say I have a vested interest in a doughnut shop.”  
  
“Well, I hate to break it to you, pal, but you're a day late and a dollar short. The fact that you're here right now means, without a shadow of a doubt, the apocalypse is over.”  
  
You're surprised to hear him admit it, and you cross one leg over the other, a frown forming on your face. This doesn't feel right. Nothing about this feels _right._  
  
“Really? How do you know?” Hazel asks, looking you both over.  
  
“The mark. We have him. We'll probably kill him later. So, you were the last known unknown left in the equation,” he explains.  
  
“Shit. Really?” Hazel laughs, disbelieving, but a big smile on his face.  
  
You can't help but return it, “Yup. If you're out, then Hellrider ain't riding.”  
  
He takes a deep breath and grins, giving a pump with his fists and laughs. It's a tad bit infectious, and sure as hell better than drinking your sorrows away, so you softly laugh with him. It is hard to believe that after everything, it could possibly be over, just like that. He makes his way over and gives you a nudge on the shoulder, sitting down beside Five and reaching right for the blender cup where a bit of mix still sits. Five chuckles as you watch Hazel drink right from the rim before setting it back down with a relieved sigh.  
  
“So, now what?” he asks.  
  
“To be honest, we don't know,” you mumble, folding your arms atop the bar counter.  
  
“I've been chasing this thing for so long, I... never really thought about the day after,” Five says, looking at you.  
  
“What about you, big guy?” you say, looking over at Hazel.  
  
“Me? I'm done with all this madness. Time to start over. You guys deserve the same.”  
  
“That's easier said than done,” Five says.  
  
“It doesn't have to be hard. Get married, settle down together. Be with your family,” he smiles at you both, “grow up, without fear.”  
  
He stands and pats Five on the back, before moving to you, “Good luck.”  
  
You reach out for him and pull him into a hug, a silent and well-repeated thank you for everything he'd done for you in the commission. When he pats your shoulder and pulls away to leave, it's almost like he's taking the entire weight of that world with him.  
  
“Hazel,” Five says, turning around, “Before you go. Which one of you was the trigger man for Detective Patch?”  
  
“Trigger woman.”

“Hm. That's too bad. That gun could've cleared my brothers name.”  
  
“Well, today's your lucky day, amigo. Take 'em both,” Hazel says, pulling out both handguns from his belt and setting them down on the bar top, “I'm done with this life.”  
  
He leaves, and that's that. You're unsure of how to feel. There's too much to be catching up on right now, and you lean against the counter. Five finishes his drink over time, setting it aside and mirroring your posture. He's looking around at the destroyed living room, working his jaw.  
  
“Do you know what happened last night?” he suddenly asks.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“With Vanya, at the house.”  
  
“Vanya was the one who cut Allison's throat,” you say, having spent all of last night with her, listening to her sorrows and confessions.  
  
“I know she didn't mean it, Vanya couldn't hurt anything even if her life depended on it,” Five huffs, “I just don't know how this is going to affect her, affect everybody... shit. Not to mention, where was the blade?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“There was no weapon at the scene. Allison was just... injured.”  
  
“Listen,” you start, and rest a hand on his leg, “don't... don't worry about that right now. Please. Worry about yourself, for once. Vanya is sleeping, Allison is healing... you need to do that, too.”  
  
He clasps his hands together and looks over at you, his eyes slightly wet, “I want to... I want to rest _so much._ But I can't.”  
  
“Five—“  
  
There's a groan and a curse from behind you both, and you spin to see Diego slowly getting up from the floor.  
  
“Oh, good. You're up,” Five says, clearing his throat from the emotions that threatened to spill, “ready for a drink, now?”  
  
Diego suddenly springs to his feet, “where is he?”  
  
“We let him go.”  
  
“You what?”  
  
You wave your hand, “Now that everything is over, it's time for the fighting to _stop_.”  
  
Diego shakes his head at you and starts picking his knives up off the floor.  
  
“Hey—he didn't kill Patch, his partner Cha-cha did,” Five stresses, but Diego rears on him.  
  
“So what? They were both there that night,” he speaks through clenched teeth.  
  
“This half of the partnership gave me both of their guns. Which, will clear you because the ballistics will match Patch's crime scene,” he huffs, leaning forward on his knees when Diego comes closer, “Hazel came looking for a way out. He wanted a fresh start, and he happened to have in his possession the one thing that could do our family a little good.”  
  
He leans back, “It's time to move on.”  
  
“Not a chance.”  
  
You sigh and watch as Five gets up from his seat and holds a hand out for you. You take it, and he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you off the chair and by his side.  
  
“I'm curious,” he says, walking with you, “your girlfriend, Patch... what did you like about her?” he looks up at you, tracing your features before going back to Diego.  
  
“A lot of things,” Diego says, confused, " ...cute butt. Nice legs.”  
  
You can't stop the snort that comes out, “Anything more profound than that?”  
  
Diego looks at you and pauses before speaking, “She believed in people. No matter how much shit and filth she saw in the streets. She always saw the good inside.”  
  
“Well,” Five says, “I'm sure she'll be proud to know that you're killing Hazel and Cha-Cha as a way to honor her memory.”  
  
He tugs you along, and you nearly resist him, wanting to speak with Diego, but you follow his lead. You realize you wouldn't know what to say, your brain completely fried at this point. He takes you back to his bedroom and sits you down on the bed, sighing softly. You let him run his hands through your hair, and he takes your wrist, pressing his fingers down into it, and you smile softly.  
  
“Is it beating?” you ask.  
  
“As steady as always,” he says, bringing it up to his mouth to give your pulse a soft kiss.  
  
“Listen,” he begins, and laces both of your hands together, “there's something that I have to do. The final thing from the apocalypse that I have to say goodbye to, and then... then I'm yours.”  
  
You search his face and nod solemnly, “What is it?”  
  
“I need to return Delores to her home,” he turns and looks to her, where she never left the seat by his window.

“Okay. I can find the store she's from,” you start, and he holds up a hand.  
  
“I need to do this alone. I know you understand, you're... you're always so understanding," he chuckles at this, and when he looks back at you, he's the softest you've seen him in a long time, “you're the best thing that has ever happened to me, sweetheart. In order to move on, in order to appreciate you and everything you've done for me... I need to let go of her, and the place she came from. I want to say a proper good-bye to her.”  
  
You feel your shoulders sag, but you nod, because you do understand. You squeeze his hands, and he brings them up to his chest, leaning in to rest his forehead on yours.  
  
“I want to have the wedding. I know we don't need to have one, but I do. I want you to be the star of the day, and to show everyone how much I love you. I want to live the rest of my life with you, if...” he pauses, looking down then back up, “if you'll still have me.”  
  
You huff and grin, almost shaking with how sweet he's being to you right now, having missed this side of him, the side only you get to see, “I don't want anyone else, Five.”  
  
“Good. Neither do I,” he smiles and leans in to kiss you, soft and kind. It holds so much raw emotion behind it, and he cups your jaw, cherishing the moment.  
  
When he pulls back, he looks you over and commits you to his memory, a shine in his eyes and a warm smile on his face.  
  
“I'll be back before you know it,” he says, and stands up, getting Delores ready to leave. You watch as he tucks her gently into the duffel bag, and with one last smile, blinks out of the bedroom.  
  
Left alone, you flop onto your back and feel your body decompress. It's as if you sink right into the mattress, like falling into a cloud. You should check on your family. Just like that, you're up and at it again, grunting with the effort of your sore and exhausted muscles. You're barely out and into the hallway when the entire building begins to shake and rattle, actually knocking you down onto your knees. As you look up in panic, the paintings on the walls are quaking, dust falling from the ceiling and a myriad of expensive décor falls and shatters on the ground. You use the wall to help you get back up and start trying to make your way down the corridor, wondering just what the hell is happening.  
  
You hear your name being shouted, and you grunt, calling back out to the voice. Klaus comes around the corner with Diego, both of them rushing to help you to your feet as you all look around the home, panicked and frightened.  
  
“What the hell, an earthquake, are you for real?!” Klaus says, stomping his foot.  
  
“This isn't a normal earthquake,” Diego huffs and at once, you both look at each other.  
  
“Allison,” you say in unison, and all three of you are rushing to get to the medical room, but on your way there, the quaking suddenly stops.  
  
“Luther?” you call out, knowing he'd stay with Allison all night, and you keep pushing toward the room.  
  
You're not prepared to see him holding a limp Vanya in his arms, a cold, dark look on his face as he stands at the end of the hallway.


	11. Hell or High-water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 9,000 words and 18 pages. The finale of Season 1.
> 
> I want to thank everyone for all they've done to support me and this work; For the bookmarks, kudos, and comments. For those I see that come back again and again, taking snippets of the story to comment about, asking questions, and eagerly awaiting each chapter. You make my heart fond and you make my days brighter. 
> 
> I hope you'll continue to join me as we dive into Season 2, together. ❤️
> 
> ☂️

“You put her down _right now_ , Luther Hargreeves! _Let her go!_ ” you scream, but he never stops walking forward.  
  
You're not strong enough to stop him, your borrowed sneakers sliding across the wooden floor as the behemoth of a man continues down the hallway. You lose traction and start falling when you don't realize he begins descending a flight of stairs, and it's Diego who catches you, preventing you from a nasty meeting with the steps. You shove him away and rush down after Luther, your eyes tracked onto Vanya's head bobbing along with the rest of her unconscious body.  
  
“You don't understand, I have to do this,” Luther says, never once looking at you.  
  
“What are you doing with her?!” You shout back, shoving him and grabbing at him arms, but it's no use, he keeps pulling away from you.  
  
“Luther, what the hell is going on?” Klaus asks, his hands up to his mouth as he trails behind everyone.  
  
He doesn't answer, and everyone becomes silent as you go deeper and deeper beneath the mansion, piling into a large elevator. No matter how much you question him he continues to ignore you, and you're fearful at the changing scenery around you, wondering just how deep the elevator goes. You step down a metal, rickety staircase that leads into a long empty round hallway made by bricks and covered in water damage. You never stop trying to physically prevent Luther from moving, not caring how you must look like, shoving him and clinging onto him with all your might. He slams through a set of massive doors at the end of the hall, and you finally stop your assault on him only out of pure shock in the room you're now standing in. There at the end of the room sits a massive metal wall, like some kind of nuclear bunker, with a heavily protected and thick hatched door. It looks like almost like a bank vault, except there's a small vertical window in the middle of the door which lets you see that the inside is covered in massive panels of sound foam. You're too distracted by the discovery to try and do anything about Luther opening the door, and by the time you're lunging at him, he's already heartlessly dropped Vanya onto the ground inside.  
  
“No, no!” you say desperately, but he shoves you back, and you stumble onto the floor.  
  
He swings the heavy door shut and locks it in place, the creaking of the wheel is deafening as your breath picks up in fear. You scramble and look inside the window, your nose and hands pressed to the bulletproof thick plexiglass, looking at Vanya splayed on the cushioned floor inside. You grab at the handle and pull yourself up, about to turn and open the door, when Luther's hands come down on your shoulders, and they forcibly yank you away, causing you to fall back into Diego and Klaus.  
  
“This is the best for everyone,” he says.  
  
Klaus shakes his hands in the air, “What are you talking about? I'll ask again since you haven't given any answers, what _the hell_ is going on?!”  
  
“Dad has kept a lot of secrets from us. He's lied to us all our lives,” Luther starts, slowly stepping in the way of the door, “But apparently the biggest lie is the truth about our own sister. Vanya has _powers,_ and they're dangerous.”  
  
“Move,” you huff and push forward, trying to shove him out of the way with your body.  
  
He must have had enough of you, because he grabs onto your forearms and brings you with him, out of the way of the door, keeping you still.  
  
“Hey, easy, big guy,” Klaus says, trying to pry Luther's fingers off of you, but he doesn't budge.  
  
Diego has a deep frown set into his face as he watches the scene unfold, and he turns to the room Vanya is locked in, stepping closer. Klaus, unable to do anything to help you, quickly moves to the window to look inside, a hand coming up to cover his mouth when he sees his sister. Klaus lets out a gasp, and when you turn to look, Vanya has woken up, slowly getting to her feet. You can't imagine what must be going through her mind, but when she whips around to see all of you, the pure horror in her eyes is enough to break your heart. She rushes to the door and begins pounding on it, smacking at the window and frantically bouncing in place, you can see her face and throat strain as she attempts to scream out to you, but you hear nothing. You instinctively try to run for her, but Luther keeps you still, and it's starting to hurt where his fingers are digging into your arms.  
  
“You locked up our sister because you _think_ she has powers,” Diego says, watching with an unsettled look on his face.  
  
“No. I know she does, Pogo told me. He's always known and so did Dad,” Luther explains.  
  
Diego shakes his head, pressing a hand to the door, “Why would they hide this from us? I mean, am I the only one that didn't know this place existed?”  
  
“He hid so much from us...” Klaus mutters, unable to look away from Vanya now in tears.  
  
Luther grunts when you stomp hard on his foot, but remains solid in his place, “He hid it because he was afraid... of _her_.”  
  
“Oh, that's ridiculous!” Klaus whines.  
  
“Is it? Dad's lied about everything else, why is this so far-fetched?”  
  
“But if you're right, is she the one who—” Diego stops himself, pulling his hand away from the door.  
  
“Cut Allison's throat,” Luther finishes for him, and you feel your gut drop to the floor.  
  
Before you can object to this train of thoughts, Klaus does it for you, “Whoa, no. Lets, I ju— Sorry, let's go back, alright? This is _Vanya_ we're talking about, our _sister!_ I mean, the one who always cried when we stepped on _ants_ as kids!”  
  
“Yeah, I know. I know it's difficult to accept—“  
  
“It's not _difficult_ to accept, it's _impossible_ to accept!” Klaus explodes, rearing on Luther with anger in his eyes.  
  
“No, he's right. Look, we can't keep her locked up without proof, and for god's sake, let y/n go!” Diego says, pointing at you in his hands.  
  
Luther makes a face and releases your arms, which now have deep red marks from him pressing so roughly into your skin, “What more proof do you need?”  
  
“No, nothing can justify locking her up like some deranged animal!” You shout, and Klaus nods.  
  
“Why don't we just open the door and ask her?” He moves for the handle and Luther jerks forward, grabbing his arm and yanking him back.  
  
“She's not goin' anywhere” he huffs.  
  
Diego jabs a finger into Luther's chest, “Y/n is right, even if she has powers, she needs our help! We can't do that if she's locked in a cage.”  
  
“Yeah, and for all we know, she might be struggling with this... new power. I mean, it must be scary, _terrifying_ , really, to discover that you can do something that you never thought you could do,” Klaus tries to explain, moving to your side.  
  
Luther shakes his head, “Look, if what Pogo told me is even half true, she is not just a danger to us.”  
  
“So what if she has powers, what makes her so dangerous compared to any of you?!” you question, leaning on your tiptoes to try and speak to Luther's face.  
  
“Listen—“  
  
You shove at Luther and he only so much and briskly rocks back on his feet. There's a sudden, loud smacking coming from behind you, and you turn around to see Allison standing in the doorway. She's got a note pad in her left hand, and the dressings still wrapped around her throat, looking worse for wear.  
  
“Allison—“ you call to her, but Luther steps forward.  
  
“You shouldn't be down here, you should be in bed,” he says to her, looking rueful.  
  
She takes the marker from her left hand and begins to write on the pad, her jaw clenching tight. She shows to the pad to him, which has 'LET HER GO' written in big letters across the pad.  
  
“I can't do that. She hurt you.”  
  
Allison bites her lip and flips the page over, writing once more. This time, it says 'MY FAULT.'  
  
“I'm sorry. But she's staying put,” he says, clenching his hands.  
  
When she moves forward to push past him, you move with her, and he grunts with the effort of both of you shoving into him.  
  
“It's just until we know what we're dealing with,” he huffs, and Allison locks eyes with you.  
  
You ram your body weight into him, and she uses this to move for the door, dropping her marker and so she can grab the handle. It's no good, and Luther is shoving you down right onto the ground, grabbing her much more gently, pulling her away with little effort. Allison is shoving him and hitting his chest repeatedly, Luther won't meet her eyes as she grunts with the force of attempting to get him out of the way. Klaus helps you back to your feet, his shaky hands holding onto your own as you watch Allison make one last fruitless attempt to get to the door, Luther's arms now fully wrapping around her.  
  
“She stays put,” is all he can say, eyes trained to the floor in shame. Allison punches at him arm, but loses what little energy she had, her knees buckling under her.  
  
Luther catches her as she sobs and pants in his arms, “Come on. You need to rest.”  
  
She meets Vanya's eyes, unable to look away, paralyzed with the visual of her sister covered in tears and pleading for her freedom. Klaus lets you go, hanging his head and helplessly following Diego out of the containment room. Reluctantly, Allison pulls away, taking a step backward. Luther tries to baby her, guiding her along, but she pulls away from him entirely. She reaches a hand out for you and stumbles, so you move to take her hand and support her. Tears are in her eyes and so close to spilling down her cheeks, her hands quaking where they hold onto your arm, and you can't stop the raw feeling from welling up in your own throat, your eyes burning. You take a look at Vanya, and so desperately want to help her, but it's a losing battle. If you push too hard, there's the likely chance that Luther will hurt you, and what good will you be to Vanya then? Allison shakes you and starts to pull you along, and you have to rip your eyes away from your sister-in-law trapped in a metal bunker to help Allison walk without falling over.  
  
It feels like a hole has been ripped through your torso, leaving you hollow. You're exhausted down to your bones, and you don't think you have any tears left to cry. You try to swallow it all down and try to be strong, but your nerves are raw. You glance over your shoulder and Luther is hovering so close his chest brushes against your back with every other step. Not a word is spoken in the house once you leave Vanya. Everyone separates, unsure of how to handle themselves and the situation. You're given no choice but to help Allison into her room and down onto her bed. Luther tries to show her affection, but she brushes him off. You're stuck sitting in a small old chair in Allison's childhood bedroom as she curls up on the mattress, Luther standing like a guard-dog by the bedroom door. There's no way you're getting past him, and he refuses to leave Allison's side.  
  
Luther starts softly, “I did what I had to—“  
  
“Save it,” you cut him off, digging your nails into the arms of the chair.  
  
It's not long after that the house is rocked with a deep vibration, a dull crashing thud and shrill creak of metal echoing through the halls. You meet Allison's eyes, and you all look toward the door, Luther turning around to open it slowly. There's another rough quake that shakes the entire academy, and you hop up to your feet, the rocking causing decoration to fall off of Allison's walls. An old magazine that was framed falls and shatters on the ground, a teenage version of Allison on the cover with bold letters reading ' **The Umbrella Academy** '.  
  
“Oh my god,” Luther mutters.  
  
Allison scrambles off her bed and everyone moves out into the halls as it feels like the very foundation of the mansion is going to collapse under you. Klaus and Diego meet up with you in the halls, both looking just as concerned as you feel.

“Yo, what the hell is going on?” asks Diego, brushing off some dust falling onto his shoulders.  
  
Klaus is panicking as he asks, “Are those explosions coming from—“  
  
“Vanya,” you say, eyes widening.  
  
“We need to get to safety, outside the academy,” says Pogo, walking up behind you all.  
  
It takes a moment before the situation dawns on everybody, Klaus and Diego taking off running.  
  
“Don't forget mom!” Luther says, now breathing heavy, “Pogo, Y/n, I'm... I'm s—“  
  
“Go! _Now!_ ” Pogo insists, giving you as push towards Luther and rushing down the hallway.  
  
“Take Allison,” you say to him as you follow after Pogo, ignoring Luther calling your name.  
  
The explosions get worse and worse, the entire building eventually come down around you as you desperately search for Vanya. You lose track of Pogo at one point, and hear Diego and Klaus calling for Grace above you. In your rush down the stairs, you catch one too far forward and go tumbling the last few steps, grunting loudly as you crash and roll on the floor, almost smacking into the broken chandelier still in the foyer. The quaking somehow gets even worse, and you're struggling to stand back up properly when you can hear Pogo speak out to Vanya. You lift your head in a rush and see her, just in the main living area, standing apart from Pogo himself. The shaking comes to a halt as she turns around to see him, and she's eerily calm, no discernible emotion on her face.  
  
“Miss Vanya... I understand how upset you are,” Pogo starts, and you climb to your feet, “But I can assure you... that none of your siblings bear _any_ responsibility for what happened to you as a child.”  
  
Vanya is slowly making her way around the furniture, closer and closer to Pogo, and you stumble into the room, holding onto a pillar.  
  
“Vanya, please...” you call to her, and she gives you a look over her shoulder, her eyes glazed over. She slowly searches your face, before looking back to Pogo.  
  
“Did you know?” she asks him softly.  
  
“Your father discovered that you were capable of great things. Much like your brothers and sister. But your powers were... too great,” he sighs, “he only wanted to protect you from yourself. As well as your siblings.”  
  
He pauses and looks up at the walkway above you, and you turn to see Luther walking with Allison. Luther nods at you, and you take a shaky breath, turning back around when Vanya speaks again.  
  
“Did... you know?” she repeats, her voice thick with emotion.  
  
Pogo takes a deep breath, meets your eyes, and looks back to Vanya, “Yes, Miss Vanya. I knew.”  
  
Vanya slowly, almost subtly nods, tilting her head down and closing her eyes. You can feel your heartbeat kick up higher and heavier, the thudding of the organ almost attacking your rib-cage when Vanya opens her eyes again, a glowing bright white. The house begins to quake and crumble, as Pogo is suddenly lifted into the air in front of you. You call out to Vanya, begging her to stop, but she turns with force, and a wave of her arm sends Pogo flying across the room, impaling him on the giant mounted horns above the fireplace. You can't help but scream at the sight, holding onto the wall for dear life as the building comes down around you. Vanya walks closer to him, just staring and observing him slowly dying as she uses her powers to crumble the academy. There's a pair of hands on you, pulling you back, and you're struggling against them with everything you have left in you. Your legs are kicking uselessly, and you call for Vanya, begging for her to stop, trying to tell her it'll be okay, she just needs to calm down, but you're outside the academy before you know it.  
  
You twist in the arms of the person holding you, shoving at them and pushing away until you're scrambling at the ground, breathing heavy, sobbing. Much more gentle hands smooth over your arms and hug you, and through the wetness in your eyes you can see it's Allison hugging you and holding you tight, her own cheeks just as wet as yours. You're given no relief as Luther urges you both to keep running as the entire building collapses, debris falling, engulfing the surrounding street. You're left to watch in silent awe as the wreckage settles, casting dust and chaos around with it, burst pipes and small fires starting. Allison holds your hand, squeezing with all her strength, and she pulls you forward.  
  
“Where are we... what's going on?” you finally speak, your voice hoarse.  
  
Luther grunts as he pushes a rather large chunk of stone out of the way, “We have to find Klaus and Diego.”  
  
You don't have to search for long, as you're walking up you can hear Klaus repeatedly telling Diego to stop rummaging through the debris.  
  
“What do you wanna do, you wanna—wanna, w-w-w-w—“ Diego repeatedly stutters, visibly struggling, ”w-walk away from this?”  
  
“No,” Klaus shakes his head.  
  
“What about Pogo?” Diego almost begs, and Luther steps forward.  
  
“He didn't make it,” he explains, “Vanya killed him.”  
  
“Vanya wouldn't—“  
  
“No, we... we saw it,” you say, taking a shaky breath, “before we left, she... she did it.”  
  
Diego's eyes widen, “Mom... now Pogo...” he gasps and slowly sits down on the rubble.  
  
Allison let's go of your hand to look around at what once was her home, her face cooled into a neutral state, and you feel like such an emotional wreck.  
  
“No, no, no!” someone suddenly screams, and though it's muffled, it's enough to draw your attention.  
  
You can see Five climbing up the wreckage, losing his footing and grip on the stone repeatedly. He lays his eyes on you but winces when dust washes over him, scrubbing at his eyes with his arm. When he looks at you all again, there's an undeniable look of horror and shock on his face.  
  
“Five!” you call to him, moving past Luther and Allison to wave your arms, “We're alive!”  
  
He pushes himself forward despite the fear still there on his face, sliding down the hill of what once was his home.  
  
“Guys!” He calls for you, his voice cracking.  
  
He trips over his feet on his way to you, and he can't stop himself from breaking into a desperate run. His chest is heaving with how hard he's breathing, his eyes red with the tears he's trying to hold back. He drops the newspaper in his hand as he runs right into your arms, holding onto you desperately, needing to feel your warmth. Your hands dig into his shoulders as you hug him back, trying to give him what he needs to ground him in reality. When he pulls back, he grabs at your cheeks, resting your forehead against his own, so he can watch your face, feel your breath and see the light in your eyes. You look awful, but you look _alive_ , and it's all he needs. You press your hands into his hair and he can't thank you enough for the contact.  
  
“Five, where have you been?” Luther asks, and Five pulls away from you to look over at them.  
  
All of them, with their hearts still beating, looking at him, moving and breathing. You see him swallow his fear down, and he refuses to let go of your hand, his palm sweaty. He pulls you with him as he picks the newspaper back up off the ground, and he tries to calm his breathing. You're not worried about Five; You're scared for him. The color is drained from his face, and he's nearly vibrating, his eyes darting around wildly as he looks over everyone's faces. His nails are digging into the back of your hand as he takes one last long look at you before turning to his siblings.  
  
“This is it,” he says, his voice thick, “The apocalypse is still on, the world ends today.”  
  
His voice is cracking, and he looks like if you so much as breathed on him, he would topple over, but he's still standing strong and pushing to be the protector. You don't question him, just let his presence calm your fried nerves. You knew something wasn't right.  
  
“I thought you said it was over?” Luther asks, nearly slipping on the rubble.  
  
“I-I was wrong, okay? This newspaper,” Five holds it up,” I found this in the future the day I got stuck. The headline hasn't changed!”  
  
Diego shakes his head, “No, that doesn't mean anything. Time could have been altered since that newspaper came out this morning.”  
  
Five closes his eyes and taps the newspaper against his head, his hand somehow holding yours even tighter, causing you to wince, “You're not listening to me! When I found it, I assumed this place came down along with everything else. That you came down with it, I—“  
  
You yank your hand away from his if only to wrap your arms around his shoulders as he stutters and struggles to catch his breath. Everyone watches in confusion as Five fights having an episode.

“Look, the moon is still shining, the Earth is in one piece, you, you're _alive_ , but not the academy,” he explains, his voice coming out harshly.  
  
Klaus reaches forward and snatches the newspaper from him, turning around to open and read it, “I'm confused.”  
  
Five stomps forward, away from your hold, pleading, “Then _listen_ to me, you idiot!”  
  
When Klaus turns back around, Five speaks again, “Vanya destroys the academy _before_ the apocalypse. I thought Harold Jenkins was the cause, but he was the _fuse_.”  
  
“Vanya is the bomb,” you mutter under your breath, and Five gestures to you to affirm your statement.  
  
“Vanya causes the apocalypse,” he stresses, running his hands through his hair and tugging on the strands.  
  
Luther looks distraught as he says, “We have to find her.”  
  
You can hear the helicopter before you see the searchlight blast down onto the family, blocking your eyes and trying to catch a glimpse of it in the sky. Sirens slowly draw closer, speeding down the street as you all stand in the epicenter of the disaster. Everyone gets up and runs as Luther orders everyone to regroup at 'The Super Star.' You can't help it, you panic, spinning around and watching everyone run away from you, but you feel a pair of arms pull you into a hug and suddenly, you're blinking through space.

* * *

  
  
“Breathe with me, come on now,” you whisper to him as do your best not to shake or stutter in your attempt to guide him through the exercise.  
  
Five is brittle in your hands, sat beside you on the curb of the parking lot as he fights the visions and the spiraling thoughts. His eyes are closed shut with his fingers pressing into them roughly, muttering under his breath, trying to tell himself that everything is okay. You're rubbing at his shoulders and his back, leaning to rest your chin on his head and to tuck him into your chest.  
  
“Can you hear it?” you ask, “Can you hear my heartbeat?”  
  
“Yes... I know. You're here, I've got you—“ he reaches for you, and you shush him, pulling him into a hug.  
  
“You're wrong, Five. I've got _you_ ,” you say into his hair.  
  
“Hey, guys...!” Klaus pants as he slows down his run, leaning over and clasping his knees to catch his breath.  
  
You let Five go, and he attempts to straighten his uniform, standing up straight and helping you to your own feet. None of you are okay, but you've run out of time to comfort each other, and if the two of you are good at anything, it's moving forward despite it all.  
  
“Klaus, finally. Come on, everyone is inside,” you say as you take him by the arm and guide him into the bowling alley.  
  
It's so surreal when you have to order a pair of bowling shoes, slowly putting them on in autopilot. You convene with everyone at the lane they picked and stare at the bright screen with all of your names input into the game. No one is really playing, but you were already warned once that you couldn't just loiter around, you had to be paying customers. Diego is walking back from having just rolled the ball haphazardly down the lanes when Luther finally speaks up.  
  
“Look, I hate to be the one to say this, but everyone needs to prepare.”  
  
“Prepare for _what?_ ” you seethe at him, sitting as far away as you possibly can, next to Klaus.  
  
“To do whatever it takes to stop Vanya,” he affirms, and stutters when Allison smacks him with her notepad, “We may not have a _choice_ , Allison.”  
  
“Bullshit,” you and Diego say simultaneously.  
  
“There's always options,” he continues, and Five scoffs.  
  
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.  
  
Diego pauses, “... I don't know.”  
  
Klaus opens the newspaper beside you, and you have to lean, so he doesn't smack you in the face with it.  
  
“Look,” Luther stands, “Whatever we decide, we need to find Vanya. And fast, okay? She could be anywhere.”  
  
“Or... here,” Klaus says, and everyone gathers around him to look at the paper. There's an ad printed, with Vanya right on the cover, holding her violin.  
  
“That's right. Her concert is tonight,” Diego confirms, leaning over your shoulder.  
  
“Where else would she go but where she's finally in the spotlight,” you say to yourself, but Klaus and Five give you a look when you're finished.  
  
“Hello,” an employee says, her best customer service smile on her face, “I hate to intrude, but my manager says if you're not gonna bowl, you gotta leave.”  
  
You turn around and see the manager angrily slam a pair of shoes on the counter-top, and you roll your eyes, looking back over the paper. You skim the small ad and article and feel a sorrow in your chest at the thought of what could have been such a great night for everyone, watching Vanya play and supporting her. Luther angrily picks up a bowling ball and tosses it, letting it slam into the lanes and skip a few over, knocking over some pins three lanes down from the one you're supposed to be playing in. Klaus eventually gives you the paper, and you fold it up in your lap as you hear Allison writing on her pad. When she flips it around, it reads 'SHE'S OUR SISTER'.

Luther pleads with her, “We're the only ones capable of stopping this. We have a responsibility to Dad.”  
  
“To _Dad?”_ Diego whips around on Luther, “No, I've heard enough about—“  
  
“He sacrificed _everything_ to bring us back together,” Luther argues.  
  
You can't even finish your thought of your counterpoint when Five sits up straight and says, “I'm with Luther on this one. We can't give her a chance to fight back.”  
  
You scoff at him, and he turns his head to look at you, “There are billions of lives at stake... we're past trying to save just one.”  
  
“She's _family,_ ” you hiss at him and stand, moving away from everyone and needing your space. You can't stand the way any of these people talk about Vanya.  
  
“Hey, you know, guys, uh...” Klaus starts, jittery in his seat, “Maybe I can help?”  
  
“Klaus, we don't have time for this,” Luther says, holding his hand out in front of him to stop him.  
  
“No, let him finish,” Diego says, pushing Luther's hand away.  
  
Luther makes a face, his brows furrowing, as if just the thought of someone defending Klaus is such a foreign concept to him.  
  
Diego shrugs, “He saved my life today.”  
  
' _Does he have to do that every day in order to get respect?_ ' You hold your comment back on your tongue.  
  
“Is that true?” Luther asks.  
  
“Yeah, yeah I did... take credit for it,” he sighs, “The real hero... was Ben.”  
  
As the record shows, no one believes him. You're starting to see why he's kept it hidden, why he instinctively attempted to hide it from you despite his slip ups.  
  
“Today—listen! Today... he _punched me_ in the face, and earlier at the house, he was the one who saved Diego's life, not me,” Klaus tries to explain.  
  
“You are unbelievable, Klaus,” Luther scoffs at him, and you stomp your foot.  
  
“How come? Explain yourself,” you push a finger at Luther and Klaus quickly pulls you back, trying to stop anything from starting.  
  
“No, no, it's okay. Look, they want proof?” He asks you, then turns to his siblings, ”Alright I-I'll give you proof.”  
  
He reaches down for a bowling ball and sniffs, and he spins it around in his hands, looking off to the empty air beside Five.  
  
He hypes himself up and bends down, “Alright, it's showtime, baby.”  
  
He tosses the ball into the empty air, Five jerking out of the way as it flies by him, and lands right down on the ground. It bounces slightly and merely rolls around on the carpet. Klaus's hands slide to grip at the back of his hair, a grimace showing on his face.  
  
“Is there any way to silence that voice in your head that _screams_ out to be the center of attention?” Luther asks.  
  
“Oh, shut up,” you spit, “Even _you_ could tell he really believed in whatever he was trying to do, and it just didn't fucking work.”  
  
“Thank you!” Klaus gives an airy laugh, putting a hand on your shoulder and pointing at Luther, “and you know what? I liked you a lot better before you got laid.”  
  
Luther's eyes widen, and you snort, not from laughter, but in disbelief. The absolute mess that is the Hargreeves never ceases to surprise and amaze you, no matter how much you think you're used to it already.  
  
“Which, uh, wasn't his fault,” Klaus backtracks, “Um, 'cause he was ridiculously high, right? And, the girl, she thought he was a furry—”  
  
“ _Stop!_ ” Luther says through his teeth.  
  
Allison rolls her eyes and spins on her heel to walk away, Luther scrambles after her, begging for her to stop and listen to him. You ignore them, because the thought of it just upsets your stomach, so you push Klaus' arm off of you and run your hands through your hair.  
  
A woman walks up, dragging a child with her, “Excuse me, um, excuse me! It's my son Kenny's birthday today, and, uh... wouldn't your son be happier playing with kids his own age?” she asks, looking at you and Klaus, “Assuming it's okay with your two dads.”  
  
Cool, the last thing you needed tonight was to be misgendered and mistaken as your husband's father. Five sits there for a few, empty seconds, before leaning forward, practically lunging at the woman.  
  
“I would rather chew off my own _foot._ ”  
  
Her smile drops, and she quickly turns, rushing her son away from you both. Klaus gives you a shrug, and you just groan, when you hear such a distinct rush of air and a clink of metal. Five meets your eyes and you both move quickly to the next bowling lane, lifting the hatch and pulling out the message canister.  
  
“How the hell did she find us?” Five asks and you rack your brain for answers.  
  
It dawns on you, and you curse under your breath as you reach into his pocket to pull out the candy you had taken from her office only yesterday. When you open it, there's a perfectly wrapped tracker inside the candy, and you can't help but laugh.  
  
“She's good,” Five says as you drop the tracker to the ground and stomp on it.  
  
Five spins the canister around to see a lone fortune cookie sitting inside, so he opens it and drops it to the ground without a care, taking the cookie out. When he cracks it open, you have to lean over his shoulder to read the text, ' _TIME MARCHES ON... OR DOES IT? Rain Quail, Rm 12_.' He scoffs as he crumbles the piece of paper and stuffs it in his pocket, holding his hand out for you.  
  
“What about the family?” you ask.  
  
“What about them?”  
  
“You really suck sometimes, you know that?”  
  
“Take my damn hand, y/n.”  
  
You do, and he's pulling you close, so he can blink you both out of the bowling alley.

* * *

  
  
“Really starting to regret that I chose to wear this,” you say as you trudge up the stairs of the hotel.  
  
Your decision to borrow a pair of flats, a knee-length skirt and a short-sleeved button-up from Grace ended up going sour on you. Five hums and runs his hand over the black fabric as he climbs the stairs next to you.  
  
“I like you in a-line skirts, though. Compliments your figure,” he says offhandedly and opens the door to the main lobby, letting you inside first.  
  
You lead the way down the hall of the motel, some old song playing through a tinny speaker overhead. You count the doors and finally come upon the twelfth one.  
  
“I've been waiting for you two,” The Handler speaks from inside, the door to the room cracked open.  
  
When you enter, there's an entire display in front of you; A snack cart filled to the brim with sweets and food, and an older woman tied to a chair next to a heart shaped bathtub. There's duct tape around her mouth as she attempts to call out to you, and The Handler is posed on the bed just a few steps higher. You ignore the woman and fold your arms, unsurprised but rather pissed that she's still alive.  
  
“You must really like doughnuts,” Five says as he lets the door swing behind him, stuffing a hand into his pocket.  
  
“It's been awhile,” she says.  
  
“Three days,” you reply.  
  
“For you, maybe, but for me it's been a lot longer since I've seen those... _adorable_ little shorts.”  
  
You sneer and place your hands on your hips and Five speaks, “Well, you've had time to heal.”

Handler sighs and stands up, making her way to you both, “Luckily, for the three of us, time... is the one thing my organization has an abundance of.”  
  
“Got your message, by the way,” Five holds up the paper,” nice packaging, but so much for Commission protocol.”  
  
She chuckles as she grabs a fry off the table, “There have been a lot of changes since you both left the Commission. You really did some damage,” she stuffs the fry into her mouth.  
  
As she chews, she looks you both over and smiles, crossing her arms.  
  
“The briefcases were all but destroyed, to say nothing of the... highly trained personnel you killed. After all, what is an institution if not for—“  
  
“What do you _want?_ ” you ask, leaning into her personal space.  
  
“To be happy,” she says without missing a beat, “to have a simple... unfettered life, to do the work my superiors require, but...” she steps away, her finger in the air as he moves to a nearby couch and sits down.  
  
“You two being here, well, it complicates all that.”  
  
“Billions of people are about to die tonight,” Five says, and the woman tied up whimpers, “You can change that.”  
  
“Tonight, tomorrow. So little difference in the scheme of things,” she says as she grabs another thing to snack of, leaning back on the couch.  
  
“Don't you remember the Commission's raison d'être? What's meant to be is meant to be, or, as I like to say, Que será, será,” she continues nonchalantly.  
  
“This isn't right,” you say, holding a hand out and stopping Five, “She's fucking with us.”  
  
“Of course she is, but there has to be a reason she brought us here,” he huffs.  
  
“Well, I wanna offer you a choice—” she says, but you cut her off.  
  
“This is a distraction,” you mutter, turning to Five, “That right there is your proof, there's nothing she can offer us. With us gone, the family would still go and see Vanya, and we'd be out of the way.”  
  
“Shit,” he mutters when it dawns on him, and grabs you, pulling you with him as you blink out of the room.  
  
You arrive just in time to grab onto the seats in the concert hall, cursing your husband for his powers and how disoriented you get.  
  
“What's with all the lollygagging?” you hear him say, but you gasp when you see the Commission soldiers readying their weapons up above you.  
  
“Five!” you shout and lunge for him, dropping him to the ground with you just in time to miss the shower of bullets raining overhead.  
  
“What the hell, we thought you two bailed on us!” Luther shouts from across the way, where he's taking cover.  
  
“Yeah well, we had an errand to run,” Five grunts as he crouches behind one of the seats, pulling you along to do the same.  
  
“This is not good,” you grunt as you duck your head, nearly missing a shot aimed right for it.  
  
Diego tries to peak a look at you, “You know these guys?”  
  
“Yeah. We do,” you huff, barely hearing his voice over the gunfire.  
  
“ _And?_ ” Diego stresses.  
  
“Well,” Five turns to look down the other side of the alley between seats, “We're screwed.”  
  
Diego throws a couple of knives and is only capable of taking down two out of the dozens of soldiers flooding the concert hall. Klaus comes running in, hopping down the stairs and screaming something about Cha-cha before he's dropping to the ground to also hide from the bullets. You groan at their antics and watch as Five blinks, landing on the back of one of the soldiers and twisting him around, so he fires into the other two behind him. You psych yourself up before rushing out into the aisle to grab one of the discarded guns off of the body, rolling over and coming back into a crouch with the gun tucked firmly against your shoulder. You fire at closest soldiers to you, taking down three more before there's just too many aimed at you, and you're having to run, sliding behind another row of seats. There's a distinct sound of space warping, but unlike Five's rapid noise, it warbles in the air until there's a bright blue light shining from the row of seats in front of you.  
  
You look up just in time to see blue, spectral tentacles fly above your head, coiling around the soldiers and yanking them all around the concert hall. You trace the tentacles back to the source, and your eyes widen as you see what can only be Klaus conjuring the spirit of a man, of whom has an eldritch creature splitting from his stomach and tearing the soldiers apart.  
  
“It's him, it's Ben...!” you hear Luther shout from somewhere behind you, and you're in awe.  
  
Klaus can only hold him for so long, but in that short time, Ben's power rips the soldiers' limb from limb, and there's nothing left once Klaus finally let's go. He's laughing, despite it all, panting with the effort and smiling.  
  
“Now who's the lookout?” he says to his brothers, but you're dropping your gun and standing in favor of watching what's happening to Vanya.  
  
The raw energy of her powers bellowing out from her violin rumble you to your core. It's tearing away at her clothing and her instrument, bleaching them both into a bright, blinding white. The more she plays, the more the building breaks apart, and the massive pillars on either side of the stage crack down the center.  
  
“We need to help her!” you cry out, and Five nods, coming up by your side.  
  
Everyone gathers around you and can't help but stare at their sister, now dressed in white, oozing ungodly amounts of energy in the center stage.  
  
Diego slowly walks up next to you and Luther huffs at him, “Oh, welcome back. Where were you?”  
  
“Honoring a memory. So how do you wanna end this thing?”  
  
“We surround her, alright?” Luther says, leaning over onto his knees and shouting to be heard, “We come at her from all angles.”  
  
You strain your voice to ask, “And do _what?_ ”  
  
“Whatever it takes,” he replies, meeting your eyes.  
  
“So it's a suicide mission,” Klaus mumbles by your side.  
  
“Yeah, but one of us could get through. It's the only chance we've got,” says Five.  
  
“Are we all in?” Luther asks.  
  
You shake your head, “No! There _has_ to be a better way, this can't be how it all ends!” you cry, and Allison holds onto your shoulders, nodding with you.  
  
Luther looks at you both before frowning, “Stage left,” he says to Diego, “Stage right,” he points at himself, then at Klaus and Five, “You two front and center. Go!”  
  
They rush off without you both, and you're left watching Five stumbles down the rows of chairs. You can't bring yourself to do it. There's no reason to hurt Vanya, not after she's already been hurt so much.  
  
As Luther goes to move, Allison pushes him, and he frowns at her, “There's no time, Allison! If she finishes this concert, the whole world goes up in flames.”  
  
The concert hall cracks around you, pieces falling and crushing the seats below, but you just can't move from your spot. Luther gives the go ahead, and as if in slow motion, you see all the men rush at Vanya on stage, going at her with full force. You wonder if they truly plan on killing her. Her music washes over you in a trance, from the tips of your ears and down to the ends of your toes. You feel her emotions crawling through you, like a physical manifestation of what she's feeling—It's so much pain, sorrow and fear, it springs tears to your eyes that silently roll down your cheeks. It feels as if she's speaking to directly to you, to your body and your soul, and you almost can't breathe with the intensity of the feeling. You have to hold onto the chair in front of you to prevent yourself from falling, but it's no use when the men get too close to her, and she strikes them all back with a swing of her bow, the shock-wave knocking you over.  
  
When you open your blurry eyes, you see all four of them are suspended in the air, but it's so hard to understand what's happening with such a bright, burning light. There's a stream of what you can only assume is energy tethered to their chests, feeding back into Vanya's own. She's stopped playing, but somehow, you can still hear the music, and you sit up in the middle aisle, helpless to do nothing but weep and watch.  
  
There's a gunshot—it nearly doesn't register, but there's a gunshot. The men all fall and crumple to the ground, and you have to roll out of the way before Klaus lands on top of you. Then, there's a distortion of space, as Vanya tilts back, and a massive beam of light shoots like a canon from her torso, shattering the ceiling and stretching into space.  
  
Way too suddenly, it's over.  
  
Silent.  
  
There's a clatter echoing through the hall as Vanya drops her violin and falls backwards, right into Allison's arms. Your brain ticks by for a mere second before you're up and scrambling on the stage, dropping to your knees in front of them. It doesn't take long for the men to catch up with you, everyone hovering.  
  
“Is she alive?” you choke out and Allison presses her hand to Vanya's throat before nodding rapidly at you.  
  
“Oh, thank god,” Klaus says, his shoulders dropping.  
  
“We did it. We saved the world,” Luther says in disbelief.  
  
A hand smooths over your face, and you turn to see Five looking over you worriedly. You cup his hand to you face before gently pulling it away, giving him one solid nod. It's a lie, of course, but there's no time for comfort and pleasantries right now.  
  
“Uh... guys?”  
  
There it is. That tone you're so familiar with.  
  
“What is it now?” you groan, turning to look up at Klaus, and you catch the spectacle happening in the sky.  
  
“You see that big Moon rock coming towards us?” he asks.  
  
“That's not good,” mutters Luther.  
  
“No shit,” you huff, unable use your filter, “You also wanna point out how we're all about to die?”  
  
“So this is it, huh? So much for... saving the world,” Klaus sighs, resigned to his fate. He pulls a pair of dog tags from his shirt, running his fingers over the engraving.  
  
Five stands suddenly, clutching his head and pacing back and forth.  
  
“If only Sir Reginald could see us right now, huh? The Umbrella Academy. A total failure,” Diego says.  
  
“At least,” you start, “At least we're together in the end. As a family.” It's the only thing you can think of, that you're not dying alone.  
  
“This doesn't have to be the end,” Five says to you, grabbing onto your wrist.  
  
“What? What are you saying?” you knit your brows together in confusion. You're going to die. You never thought it'd be like this—you always expected a KIA—but you know death when you see it.  
  
“I think I have a way out of here, but you gotta trust me on this.”  
  
“Yeah, I don't think so.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“Well, then, we might as well accept our fate, because in less than a minute, we're gonna be vaporized,” he stresses, tugging on your arm.  
  
“What are you suggesting?” you ask, feeling your shoulders sag.  
  
“We use my ability to time travel,” he swallows hard, “But this time, I'll take everyone with me.”  
  
“You can do that?” asks Diego, looking between you two.  
  
“Well, I can space jump with someone else. How hard could time travel be?”  
  
“What's the worst that could happen?” Diego says, turning to his brothers.  
  
Five huffs, “You're lookin' at it. A 58-year-old man inside a child's body, so there's that.”  
  
“Oh, what the hell, I'm in,” Diego replies.  
  
“Yeah, whatever. I'm in,” Klaus agrees, holding his dog tags to his chest.  
  
Luther nods, “Me too. Allison?”  
  
Allison nods rapidly, holding Vanya in her lap.  
  
“What about Ben?” Luther asks, and Klaus nods for him.  
  
Five squeezes your wrist and you meet his eyes. They're pleading, full of concern.  
  
You smile at him, “I'll be by your side. Through hell or high-water.”  
  
He lets out a shaky breath, “Okay, great. Luther, grab Vanya.”  
  
You step out of the way to give Luther space as he ducks down and scoops her into his arms. Five pulls you to his side and slides his hand down to lock fingers with you, his palms still sweaty.  
  
“Wait, should we be taking her?” Luther asks, “I mean, if she's the cause of the apocalypse, isn't that like taking the bomb with us?”  
  
Five is quick to correct him, “The apocalypse will _always_ happen, and Vanya will always be the cause; Unless we take her with us and fix her.”  
  
Everyone slowly nods, following along with whatever he says. He reaches out for Allison, and she takes his hand, Diego quickly grabbing your own. You form a circle, with everyone stepping as close as possible and linking up with Five. A flash of worry crosses your mind at the amount of energy this will take for him to do this, but you have no time to vocalize it as he's already calling upon his powers. His head is craned to the sky, where you can feel an electrical current rise and float your air up with it. The ball of energy that swarms and manifests into the air is eerily familiar, and you recognize it as the same kind of portal that let Five jump forward to 2019. You feel him struggling beside you, and you press closer, peaking up at the anomaly above you. It warps and crackles, slowly growing larger and brighter, Five shaking as the energy attempts to coat and cover you all. He shouts with the effort, and you whimper in fear for him, the amount of pain he's in and how much it's taking from him to do this.  
  
“It's working!” Luther shouts, barely able to keep his eyes open.  
  
“Hold on,” Five warns, looking at everyone then at you, “It's gonna get messy!”  
  
As you're blinking, you swear, you see a room of children in front of you for a few bleary seconds, shaking your head of the vision only to see the energy distorting the figures of your family. You turn to look at Five next to you, the only one you're able to still see relatively clearly, and your voice catches in your throat.  
  
“I love you,” he whispers.  
  
“I love you, too,” you reply.  
  
There's a bright snap, you feel your body being squished and pulled, and then you're blinded by an absolute and all encompassing light as you travel back in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to also work on more Five stories for everybody, too, outside of this one!! I think we need more Nonbinary rep, and more works that treat Five like the grown man he actually is.
> 
> I also think there's a lack of classic AU tropes too, and goddammit if no one else is going to do it, I might as well do it myself.
> 
> ☂️


	12. Keep Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I was excited for S2? Because I still am! But I had a bit of a difficult time starting it, only because while I wish to convey the realism behind the experience the Reader has felt being separated, I also want to express how strong willed and smart you are.
> 
> I hope I struck the right balance between being human with real emotions and also keeping your head held high like the well-trained ex-time-assassin you are. Apologies as well if I can't seem to reply to your comment; I'm just left in awe at how kind and thoughtful you are, and unable to find the appropriate way to thank you. ❤️
> 
>  _ **Content Warning:** These are the 60's, please heed the newly added tags and be aware that Reader is often misgendered by civilians in this time-period. This is done to coincide with the way the show openly handles the homophobia and racism of the time-period._
> 
> ☂️

You can't help but smile as wide as you can when you hear the record playing. Five has been trying to get you away from your paperwork all day, which is funny coming from a workaholic like him, and you told him as much. Still, it's the first time in a long time you've managed to have a few hours together, uninterrupted by anything or anyone else. You only wanted to finish up this last report, then he'd have your full attention, but it seems he's gotten more impatient than you anticipated. When you look behind you out into the hall, you see him leaning against the door frame, looking relaxed if not exhausted. His dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, his tie nowhere to be found, with his belt and shoes having been thrown into the bedroom hours ago. He looks good dressed down and casual, and the lines in his face are finally relaxed for once, making him look so warm and inviting. He holds out a hand for you, stepping closer into the shared office of your tiny apartment. You resist at first—just to be playful, because you can never truly deny his charm—and let him scoop you up into his arms.  
  
 _'Put your head on my shoulder'_  
  
 _'Hold me in your arms, baby'_  
  
 _'Squeeze me oh-so-tight'_  
  
 _'Show me that you love me too'_  
  
He pulls you flush against his body and twirls you into the living room where the record player sits, echoing one of his favorite songs throughout the entire apartment. He sways and slowly turns you around the living room, your bare feet floating effortlessly across the floor with his lead. You let out a laugh when he tickles your neck with a well-placed kiss, smiling against your skin. You feel the stress of the day slowly melt from your body, falling into his embrace as you begin to finally dance with him, moving your hips to the slow rhythm. He wraps an arm around your waist and leans forward, pressing your lips together. You smile into it and huff at the prickly feeling of his mustache and growing beard, but you haven't the heart to tell him to shave. He just looks so handsome.  
  
 _'Put your lips next to mine, dear'_  
  
 _'Won't you kiss me once, baby?'_  
  
You cherish these moments as much as possible. Times like these are what help fill your chest and get you out of bed in the morning. Slow dancing with your husband-to-be, feeling his heartbeat against your own, his breath roll over your shoulder, seeing the happiness on his face. These are the things that keep you moving forward— _Five_ is the reason you keep moving forward. Your future together, the fantasy of owning your own place without a care in the world, getting to meet the family he speaks so highly of, and to just live your life full of love; These are the reasons you continue to live. It's easy to risk your life for someone, but it's so much more difficult to survive for them.  
  
 _'Just a kiss goodnight, maybe'_  
  
 _'You and I will fall in love'_  
  
The front door opens and the little bell above it chimes in a familiar tinny pitch. The brief moment of sound from the streets pours in before the door is fully shut once more, allowing the record to continue uninterrupted in the store. You perk up, having been caught swimming in your memories. It's the same woman who was here last week, but she has her daughter with her now, taking her by the hand around the store as they peruse the shelves of albums. You admire her dress, the way it lays perfectly over her figure, the colors matching her skin-tone and hair very well. She looks so pretty, all dolled up for a day of running errands and smiling as brightly as she can, uninhibited by the world. You think you could pull off a dress like that, and for a brief moment, the question to ask her where she bought it nearly bursts from your lips. But you swallow it back down, much more painfully than how it had come up, and you avert your eyes to the magazine rack on the farthest end of the counter.  
  
 _'People say that love's a game'_  
  
 _'A game you just can't win'_  
  
She picks two off the shelves and makes her way over to you, her bright white grin too perfect to seem sincere. You quickly ring up her order, and you even offer her daughter a free lollipop from the jar next to the register.  
  
“What a kind man,” she says to you, and you smile back at her.  
  
“All in a days work, ma'am.”  
  
“Every time I come here, you are so incredibly thoughtful and gracious. You're sure to make a woman happy one day,” she reaches over the table and pats your hand with her own delicately manicured one.  
  
You keep the smile on your face and thank her, carefully wrapping the two albums in the special paper with the companies logo on it, and you tie it off with a string. She hands them over to her daughter and bids you a good day, and you watch them leave with a slow wave of your hand. Suddenly, the stiff collar of your polo shirt feels like its choking you, and the lack of a breeze on your legs is so stifling you might start sweating buckets. You turn around and brush past the employee door, right up to your coworker who is stealing a quick cigarette break in the back.  
  
“Amy, can you cover for me? I need some air,” you ask as politely as possible.  
  
She makes a face, but puts her cigarette out anyhow and walks into the front of the store, the access door swinging in its place behind her. You drop into the chair she once occupied and let a shuddering sigh escape you, running your fingers through your hair. You look up at the wall where your boss has hung a cork-board, pinning various different things related to the job on it. One of those is a calendar, which is there to mark special holidays and sales—and the times he'd be going on vacation, leaving you and Amy to run the whole thing by yourselves. You used to wonder why he was so desperate to hire you, but by now, you've had more than enough experience to figure it out for yourself. There are no words to describe the way you feel as you reach a hand up to the calendar, tracing the year in bold letters at the top. Your fingers draw over the individual dates until it stops at one in particular; November 14th  
  
It's been an entire year to the very day since you landed in Dallas, completely alone.

You tuck your legs up onto the chair and rest your chin on your knees, lightly holding on to them. You're unsure of how many times you've checked the back alley looking for them over these 365 days, but you do it as often as you can. You know this isn't how it's going to end, that Five will find his way back to you; You're cosmically inseparable like that, or too unfathomably stubborn. This is the longest you've ever been without him, but it certainly isn't the first time, and you're strong enough to accept reality the way it is. It hurts, and you miss him—you miss everybody, let's be honest—but all you can do is patiently wait. Unlike when he left to go to 2019 and you had a viable way of finding him, here, you're truly trapped. Stuck surviving until the one day you aren't alone anymore.  
  
Amy pokes her head through the door, looking frazzled, “You peachy? We just got a rush.”

You take a deep breath to collect yourself, put a smile on your face, and push right through the employee door to greet the group of teenage girls. The clock in the break room continues to tick by, even as the music muffles out the noise of the hands moving. The face of the clock has a large black decal reading ' **The Umbrella Academy**.'

* * *

  
  
Reluctantly, you still come in for your shift the very next day. You're all dressed up in a light blue button up and some dark slacks, and you had to open the store today. You're really starting to miss the luxury of energy drinks that the modern world provided you, and you survive on copious amounts of coffee to keep you going. It does nothing to cure your heartache. You're nursing the last of your cup in the backroom when your boss comes flaunting in, taking off his sunglasses when he sees you.  
  
“Ah, Y/n, there's the man of the hour!”  
  
You give him a tight-lipped smile and finish your cup before setting it back down on the little end-table that serves as your lunch area. He takes off his coat and hat, draping them over his desk with a jolly attitude.  
  
“I knew I could trust you,” he grins, reaching to pat your shoulders, “I owe you a lot.”  
  
“How about a vacation?” you ask, with a hint of humor.  
  
He guffaws at you as you expected, calling you a 'joker' and moving past you to peak out the door to the rest of the store, “How we been doin' today, hm?”  
  
“All's good. The hits are flying off the shelves like hotcakes, Mr. Johnson. You were right to order them in bulk.”  
  
“I knew it!” he laughs.  
  
You fix your hair in the mirror on his desk, feeling unimpressed with your appearance. Same clothes, same hairstyle, same crawling feeling under your skin every day.  
  
“Well go on, don't let me stop you from your duties,” he waves a hand at you, and you take your leave.  
  
The sun is glaringly bright compared to the cramp, dimly lit backroom, and you squint as you step up to the counter. It's a bit slow right now, school isn't out yet and all the housewives are preparing for their husbands to come home. You fold your arms and rest against the counter-top, letting your shoulders slump with the monotony of it all. You stifle a yawn behind your hand and watch the few people walk by on the sidewalk outside, the colorful cars drifting through the streets. The bus drives by and slows down to its local stop just a few buildings over, and you remind yourself to tell the driver happy birthday on your way home later. At least the music playing keeps you entertained, if only for an hour or so, as you then have to repeat the same popular records over and over again. As if reading your thoughts, the current one ends and begins to play static in the corner.  
  
You lift the separate counter piece and shuffle your way over, pulling up the tone arm to take the record off the table. You pick one of the three at your disposal and set it up to play, watching as the light catches the ridges of the record when it begins to spin. It crackles for a few more seconds before kicking into gear, and you smile to yourself at the rich sound. The glass of the record store shatters behind you when a spray of bullets enter the building, lining the walls. You're on the floor before you can even think, your heartbeat racing and catching in your throat at the sound of gunfire. You're startled and taken off guard, covering your head and keeping yourself hidden by the shelves as everything breaks around you, records that were on display now in pieces on the floor. Screaming and yelling can be heard in the streets among the chaos, and you slowly crawl your way behind the counter, careful not to cut your hands on the glass.  
  
It's been so long since you've felt the adrenaline of a gunfight rush through your veins, and you're a bit rusty on how to react to it.  
  
“Mr. Johnson?!” you call.  
  
“We're being robbed!" he shouts back, "Protect the merchandise!"  
  
You roll your eyes. The bullets stop not long after, and you're left lying on the floor wondering just what the hell could have provoked such a strong attack. You slowly raise yourself to see over the counter-top, wincing at the wreckage of the surrounding shop. It's trashed, and so many of the records on the shelves are torn to pieces. You stand up fully as all your senses slowly come back to you, rounding the counter and crunching the pieces of glass and music under your feet. You look outside to see the street has been successfully cleared of any bystanders or attackers, the sounds of sirens quickly coming down the road and balk at the complete destruction, unsure of what to do now that it's all over. Your body is reared and ready to fight, and you're almost excited at the prospect of doing something other than selling albums to high school girls, even if that 'something' would be a gun fight.  
  
“Oh, would you look at—my insurance is _not_ gonna believe this!” Johnson yells as he's coming through the employee door.  
  
“Let's just be thankful we weren't hurt,” you reply, opening the now broken front door.  
  
You step out onto the sidewalk while your boss throws a fit behind you, and you don't see much of anything out of the ordinary. The police are sufficiently here now, and they're taping off and blocking the view of a bench across the street. You hate to think of the idea of some innocent bystander being slaughtered just because they decided to take a seat. At the thought of innocent bystanders, your mind pings you about the man who lives in the building behind yours.  
  
“Mr. Johnson, I'm going to go check on Mr. Gussman!” you say as you rush back in and grab your jacket from the backroom.  
  
“Why?” he asks, standing by the record player and holding a half broken record.  
  
You ignore him as you march out of the store and around the corner, keeping an eye out for anything or anyone. There's just destruction and broken glass everywhere, with most citizens hidden away inside the various buildings. You hope you don't look as suspicious as you feel, so you pick up your pace. While Elliot Gussman may be a bit of a weird man who lost his wife, he's always meant well and has been incredibly kind to you since you've met him. You've never been up the stairs inside what used to be his television store, but he has made you tea and given you a fair few rides to and from work before. Sometimes he attempts to ask you odd questions about your humanity, and you think he doesn't fully believe you for one reason or another, but you trust him nonetheless. You've met weirder people, and his conspiracy theories don't bother you. You walk right up to the doors, knocking on the frame to try and get his attention.  
  
“Mr. Gussman? Are you okay?”  
  
It's hard to get a good look inside the store from the glare on the windows, but you swear you can see two figures rushing about up on the loft. You try to press closer, cupping your hands over your eyes, hoping he's not in danger. The bigger figure fumbles over the couch, and just as you're about to break the window to get inside and help him, Elliot comes rushing down the stairs. He crosses the bottom floor in quick steps and cracks the door open for you, looking sweatier than you've ever seen him—and that's saying something.  
  
“Uh, sorry. What's going on, how can I help you?” he tries to smile, but it looks awful.  
  
You look behind his head back up at the balcony where the other figure still stands, watching the two of you.  
  
Without looking away, you whisper to Elliot, “Sir, is there an intruder in your home?”  
  
“What? No, no, there's no one in my house—it's just me, um, as always. Just me, alone.”  
  
“Are you being threatened?”  
  
“I'm telling you, Y/n, everything is fine, okay? But I really have to go, now, so—“ he starts to close to the door, and you rush to shove your foot in the way.  
  
“Mr. Gussman, I can help you, trust me—“ you struggle, feeling the adrenaline in you only continue to rise. If anyone is trying to hurt this poor man, you're going to make them pay.  
  
“Y/n?”  
  
You pause in your place wedged in the doorway, eyes going wide at the sound of the voice calling your name. Elliot backs off as you push your way inside, stepping around him and coming face to face with the other person inside the building.  
  
Not a single thing has changed about Five since you last saw him; He's even still wearing a pair of bowling shoes.  
  
How are you supposed to react to this? What's the appropriate way? You close your eyes and press your hands to your face, taking a big deep breath. It's not hard to see that he had no hand in what happened—it's apparent by his state of dress that he only just recently showed up, so you all must have been separated simultaneously. Even though it's been an entire year for you, it's has to have only been minutes for him. When you open your eyes and look down at Five, he's very concerned for you, and rightfully so.  
  
“How long?” he asks you.  
  
“A year.”  
  
“A year,” he repeats, moving closer, “I'm sorry.”  
  
“It's okay,” you choke out, and you don't know who that's supposed to reassure, you, or him.  
  
“I knew it... I knew you were one of them,Y/n!” Elliot grins as he points, looking between the two of you in the middle of the floor, “I was unsure because you seemed so normal, but... hot damn!”  
  
“Tell me what's going on,” you ask Five, speaking through gritted teeth.  
  
He gestures for you to follow him, wiping at his mouth and his jaw as you pass Elliot and up the stairs.  
  
“We're right back where we started,” Five hisses, spinning in place to look at you, “And we need to find everyone else first. I can explain it all later, in more detail.”  
  
Your brain stutters as you force it to play catch-up, and you lick your lips, “Well, I haven't seen anyone. At all. I've just been... waiting,” you huff.  
  
“Well, thankfully we're here now. You've been here for a year, but the others... ” he grimaces as he drinks the last of the coffee, setting the cup back down.  
  
“Oh, right! I-I was gonna show you this, here,” Elliot moves over to a desk, opening the drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping, “I always thought that this, uh, mugshot looked like arrival number five.”  
  
Five takes it from him and tilts the paper, so you can see. It's definitely Diego, and your heart somehow aches even more at the sight. Five is muttering to himself as he reads and Elliot is nervously rubbing his hands together.  
  
“How did I never see this?” you ask yourself, looking over the article. You try to be fair and admit that you never really concerned yourself with the drama of your town, just how you were going to survive in it until the time was right.  
  
“So, uh, that's helpful?” Elliot asks, and you look up at him.  
  
“You have no idea. Thank you, Mr. Gussman.”  
  
He smiles back at you despite the situation, the same he always gives you whenever he's helped you out over your time here. You can't really say or think anything else because you're suddenly being tugged and then blinked through space-time.  
  


* * *

  
  
You power through the entire process of requesting a visit with Diego, uncomfortable in the sterile hospital. It reminds you of things you would really rather forget at this point in your life, having lived so much past it by now. You're led to the visitors room where you both sit down in an unnervingly clean white room. The door on the opposite end swings open with two guards and a nurse standing by. An Orderly comes around the corner, pulling Diego along by his arm, and you sit up straight in your seat when you lock eyes. His hair is so long, and he genuinely looks a bit deranged. You hope to god not everyone has had to go through what he must have.  
  
He walks into the room, staring you both down, “Five and Y/n...”  
  
“Hey, Diego,” you both say together, though yours has a bit more sincerity in it.  
  
Five has officially clicked into Mission Mode—a type of behavior he adapts to be as quick and efficient as possible. You'd never forget the specific tone and attitude change he adopts when doing this. He was like this when you all tried to stop Vanya, cold and calculating. He's most likely using it to cover up all the nervousness he's feeling at the nearly-helpless situation before you. You can't blame him for it, and you wish it could come just as easy to you, but you haven't had the need to do so in such a long time.  
  
Diego sits down across from you and Five shifts in his seat, “You look good in white,” he comments.  
  
“About time you two showed up,” Diego replies.  
  
“Sorry it took so long,” you say to him, and he looks you over before nodding slowly.  
  
“How'd you know we'd be back?” Five decides to ask, and Diego leans over the table at him.  
  
“Because that's the kind of shit you pull,” Diego huffs, then looks to you, “Him. Not you.”  
  
Five resists rolling his eyes, “Where are the others?”  
  
Diego looks taken back, “They're not with you?”  
  
There's a moment of silence as the information dawns on Five, and he looks down at the table.  
  
“We'll find them,” you say to the room, “We will.”  
  
Five looks back up at his brother, “How long have you been here?”  
  
“Seventy-five days. Landed in the alley behind Commerce and Knox,” Five finishes the sentence with him, confirming Elliot's claims, “You?”  
  
“I got here this morning,” Five says, looking over at you, “They've been here for a year.”  
  
It actually doesn't register that he's referring to you when he says that. It takes longer than it should to remember your own pronouns, but after a year of being consistently misgendered and accepting it out of self-preservation, hearing that come from his mouth is like being doused with cold water.  
  
“How'd you find me?” Diego asks, bringing you back into the conversation.  
  
Five scoffs and pulls out the newspaper clipping from his pocket, and you watch as Diego rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat.  
  
“Page 16. “ _Disturbed man with multiple knives arrested outside 1026 N. Beckley_.” That's Lee Harvey Oswald's house,” Five states, sliding the paper over, “Care to explain?”  
  
Diego nods ruefully, “Let's just say Dallas Law Enforcement has not been _supportive_ of my attempt to stop the assassination of...” he leans closer to whisper, “John F. Kennedy.”  
  
“That's because it hasn't happened yet.”  
  
“And it's not going to happen. Not on my watch. Look, I've been shaving down the bars in my room. Another day or two, and I'll be out of this place, then I'm gonna stop Oswald and save the president—”  
  
“No you're not,” you sigh and rest your elbows on the table to rub your temples, “You can't do anything about that, Diego.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because we have to stop the apocalypse,” Five hisses.  
  
“No shit. But that doesn't happen for another _60 years_.”  
  
“Not _that_ apocalypse, this is... a new one,” Five strains as he says that, knowing how it sounds even to his own ears, “It followed us. I've seen it. Nuclear war, in ten days.”  
  
Diego slowly starts to laugh, a little whistle and wheeze as he drops back into his chair and folds his arms, a grin on his face.  
  
“And I'm the one they locked up?”  
  
“Diego, please,” you stress, and he turns to you.  
  
“No, no, I'll play along. What causes it?”  
  
“We don't know,” you mumble, feeling a sense of Déjà vu.  
  
Five speaks up, “Maybe some looney-tuned asshole with a hero complex tried to save the president and screwed everything up.”  
  
You truly didn't miss the way the Hargreeves communicate.  
  
“So you're saying it worked? I save the president?” Diego grins and clenches his fists, “I knew I could do it!”  
  
He looks back and forth at the guards in the room before staring you both down, “Okay. Okay, I'll help you.”  
  
You smile, and he continues, “After I save Kennedy,” You frown, “And then Five swings us back a few decades, so I can slit Hitlers throat with a butter-knife.”  
  
“This is why they locked you up,” you say sadly.  
  
“You know what?” Five says suddenly, standing up, “Guard! My brother is plotting an escape.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Five continues with complete apathy, “The bars of his room have been shaved down.”  
  
“You piece of shit!” Diego lunges over the table at Five and you jump in surprise.  
  
The guards are quick to grab him and pin him down right on the table, taking him by the neck.  
  
“Hey, take it easy!” you cry, in shock at the violence displayed in front of you.  
  
“This is for his own good,” Five says.  
  
“No, Five!” Diego calls, struggling against the men holding him down.  
  
“Listen, my brother is a very sick man. I only pray that he gets the help he so desperately needs.”

The nurse comes in, readying a large syringe full of medicine, and Diego yells his protests against the needle. It's hard to watch as she takes his arm and plunges as far as it can go, and you can't bear to watch or listen any longer. You're all the way out of the building and attempting to breathe fresh air by the time Five comes out after you.  
  
“What the hell was that?” you hiss.  
  
“It—“

“No, I don't wanna hear it.”  
  
“Then why did you ask?”  
  
“Stop it, you don't always have to have the last word!” you shout.  
  
His eyes go wide, genuinely surprised by your outburst. You run your hands through your hair and with a huff, drop down onto the bench in front of the hospital. In the past hour alone, you've reunited with your husband after an entire year of being trapped over five decades in the past, one of your family members is in a psychiatric facility, the rest of them have been stuck here much longer than you have, Hazel died to save Five, and there's a nuclear war about to happen in 10 days.  
  
Breathe. Count backwards.  
  
It's as if all the exhaustion and emotional stress from that original night comes rushing right back into you, punching you in the gut. Five sits down next to you and runs his hand over your shoulders, frowning and unable to do much else to help you. You know he's most likely blaming himself for everything, and though he was the one that transported you here, you don't actually blame him at all. He only did what he could, and he saved you all from dying, even if this was the outcome.  
  
You inhale deeply before speaking, “Listen, I'm _tired_ , Five—and I know you are too, god, you're probably more tired than all of us combined—and I don't think you're lying to me about the nuclear war, or about Hazel, or anything else, but you can't just run in here and act like you always do. Things are different now, more than ever.”

His frown only grows deeper as he turns his head away, “I don't want to be doing this any more than you do, and the last thing I _ever_ wanted was to make you all experience the pain I felt...” he rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together, “I can't change what I've done, but I can try and make it right. I admit, I can be selfish, and I can be an asshole. Even towards you. I can also admit that I need your help, now, _more than ever._ ”

To hear him openly admit that he's unsure of what to do, and that he can't do it without help is a refreshing and scary thing to hear. You really are at your last stand, the idea of a brighter future is fading with every minute gone by. You don't know when the healing can finally start, but you promise to yourself that you're going to stick it out until then, like you two always have.

“Well,” you start, “Let's figure it out _together,_ this time. No more secrets, no more running off on your own. Be honest with me. With everybody, for that matter.”  
  
“Noted,” he breathes, nodding.  
  
“And no more terrorizing your siblings,” you add as an afterthought, “What you just did to Diego was awful.”  
  
“I can't entirely agree to that one.”  
  
“Five!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you didn't know, the song at the beginning that you listen to is called "Put Your Head On My Shoulder" by Paul Anka. Genuinely a very pretty song and one of my favorites.
> 
> P.S. Crisis averted with Elliot; Thank you TruRebellion!
> 
> ☂️


	13. Familliar Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of scene cuts and dialogue in this one, but it's all setup for the season, as we're all aware. Still, some moments here and there for you to enjoy, so hopefully it's not too filler-y.
> 
> Thank you so much for the love shown to me on the last chapter. How many times can I say that I appreciate you before I start to sound corny?
> 
> ☂️

Establishments like this were never really your thing, and Five always preferred something a bit classier and more laid back, but you're not here for relaxation anyhow. You're nursing a light drink at the table, writing down your thoughts on the resignation letter you're going to have to give to Mr. Johnson. It's only polite that you formally quit your job and tell your landlord of your departure, lest your face be plastered for decades as someone who disappeared under mysterious circumstances. That would make living your life back in 2019 quite difficult for you, to say the least. As you're thinking about when you're going to hand the papers in, setting your empty cup back on the tabletop, you finally hear Luther behind you.  
  
“Does your spouse know you're here?” He asks Five.  
  
You smile and turn in your seat as Five says, “Actually, they do. Good to see you, Luther.”  
  
“What do you two want?”  
  
“For you to stop hovering like an ambitious stripper and sit down,” Five gestures to the empty chair, watching the woman dance on stage.  
  
“How long have you been here?” you ask, crossing one leg over the other.  
  
“A year, thanks to him,” Luther points at Five, aggression in his voice already.  
  
“I'm sorry, Luther. I know that couldn't have been easy,” Five says, no hint of sarcasm in his tone.  
  
“I've also been here for that long, I know what you're going through,” you try to sympathize with him, despite your strained relationship with the bigger man.  
  
He clenches his jaw, leaning toward you, “I thought everybody was _dead_.”  
  
There's commotion across the stage loud enough for you to hear it even over the music, and when you look, you see a horribly drunk man actively bothering somebody.  
  
Luther follows your eye-line and huffs, standing up from the chair, “I gotta go.”  
  
“Luther, wait,” Five grabs onto his arm, his voice strained, “Look, I get it, okay? I know what it's like to be stuck in time... thinking this is how you're gonna live out the rest of your life. On the run, not knowing if you're ever going to see the people you love again, and to be in an unfamiliar world. But you're not alone. We have to find the others because the world ends again in ten days,” he meets your eyes, swallowing thickly and looking back up to his brother, “And I have no idea how to stop it.”  
  
Luther pauses, seeming to think it through. He looks at you, then back at his brother, taking a deep breath.  
  
“I don't give a shit.”  
  
He yanks his arm back and briskly walks away from the two of you, over to the scene of commotion. Five is left just looking at where his brother used to stand, his hand still outstretched, his brows knitting in confusion. Personally, you're split on how to feel about his reaction; On one hand, you're not surprised for him to be so unwilling to cooperate, but on the other, it's jarring to see the man once so dedicated to doing 'the right thing' just blow you both off like you're complete strangers. You bite your lip and push Five's hand back down into his lap, of which he fixes you with an almost comically confused look, mouth formed into a small 'o' shape.  
  
“Did he—“ and before Five can even continue that thought, he's up onto his feet and rushing after Luther.  
  
You follow him, muttering apologies to the patrons around you as you both weave through the crowd and Five catches up with Luther, pulling him to the side by the bar.  
  
“The hell is wrong with you, Luther? I just told you the world is gonna end in ten days!”  
  
“Yeah, well, you're always saying that,” Luther moves to step around him, but is stopped again.  
  
“And so far, I've been right!”  
  
“Look, you wanna go save the world? You two can knock yourselves out. I already got a job.”  
  
“Wait, you work in this shithole?”  
  
“Yeah. Well, my boss owns the place. I'm his body man.”  
  
“What's that? Like a masseuse or something?”  
  
“Okay, you can make fun all you want, but I take good care of Mr. Ruby.”  
  
“Wait,” you say, stepping in between them, “Don't tell me... _The_ Jack Ruby?”  
  
“Yeah. The one and only.”  
  
“Well, it finally happened. That gorilla DNA has taken over your mind,” Five comments.  
  
“Hey, watch it, alright? Jack's a good friend,” Luther hisses.  
  
Five leans into him, “And you're Number One. Número Uno, remember?”  
  
“There is no Number One,” Luther shakes his head, “Not anymore, not in 1963. Look, I've been stranded here _alone_ for a year, what did you expect? Honestly, I'm surprised Y/n decided to still put up with you.”  
  
You can't make a retort before Five starts to speak, emotions evident in his eyes, “I get it, alright? You watched Pogo die, the world exploded, and I marooned your big dumb ass in time. I'm _sorry_ , okay? But we're asking for your _help_ , Luther. The Umbrella Academy needs you—”  
  
“It doesn't need me. It never did.”  
  
A waitress walks up behind Five at that moment, looking a bit run down, “Luther, honey, Jack's about to lose it on some half-wit. A little help?”  
  
“Ah, shit.” he moves past you both, muttering under his breath.  
  
“Luther, wait—” you call for him, but he whips around on you and pushes a finger into your chest.  
  
“Listen, he's the genius who said we should jump, right? He's the one who got us stuck here. _And_ , he's the one who brought Vanya. So if there is a doomsday coming, she's probably the cause. And if I was gonna do something about it, it sure as hell is _not_ gonna be with you two.”  
  
He turns and walks away, leaving you stunned and at a loss for words. Five beside you is just as still and silent, and you're unsure of what to make of the whole situation. You understand where he's coming from—at least, you think you do—but the pure aggressive and harsh stance he took is baffling. He truly wants nothing to do with you. You lean against the counter, where Five has now shuffled his way into a bar stool and snatched up someone's drink for a sip. He looks at you with a frown on his face, setting the cup down and following Luther out the door where he's carrying the drunk man from earlier.  
  
“My Dad should have left him on the moon,” he says, and you return the frown.  
  
“We can't be upset with him. He's valid in how he feels,” you reach up to rub your eye, feeling the stress rise in you, “Not everyone can follow you as dutifully as I do.”  
  
He grumbles, swishing the liquid around in the cup, “Well, at least I was honest.”  
  
He takes one more drink before hopping down, but clicks his tongue and grabs at his blazer, checking the pocket where there is now a decent tear in the fabric. You raise a brow when you catch something sitting inside and reach over him to pull it out, your first thought being that he hid something from you, only to see him mirroring your confusion. It's an old film roll with a dingy yellow case, and when you turn it to the back, the date reads ' _11/22/63_ ' with the subject being ' _FRANKEL FOOTAGE._ ' You mutter the words under your breath as Five reaches over and turns the tape to get a better look himself, right under his thumb sits a black logo, ' **The Umbrella Academy** ' embossed on the film cover.

* * *

“Elliot, did you develop these photos yourself?” Five asks, leaning over the desk and looking over the wall of pictures pinned to the board.  
  
“Of course. Can't exactly drop that stuff off at the neighborhood Fotomat,” he replies, handing you a cup of coffee, which you take, thanking him, “The government has eyes everywhere.”  
  
“I didn't see a darkroom,” Five says, grabbing a pen and scratching out the date on the film cover.  
  
“Yeah, I converted the hallway closet,” Elliot explains, turning around when one of his machines starts producing feedback over the speaker.  
  
“Can you develop this?” Five asks, handing the film off.  
  
Elliot puts the spoon back in his bowl of cereal, taking the film from Five, “Huh. 'Frankel Footage.' Friends of yours?”  
  
“Cousins on my robot mother's side. Can you do it or not?”  
  
You snort into your cup, nearly taking coffee up into your nose. You take that as a sign and set the cup down on a nearby surface, rising from your comfy place on the sofa.  
  
“Sure I can,” Elliot replies.  
  
“How long?” you ask, walking up to them.  
  
“Well, I mean, I'm running low on acetic acid. Beeker's Cameras is open today, but it's two miles away, I'd have to take the bus.”  
  
You raise a brow, “What happened to the car?”  
  
Elliot waves you off, “Ah, long story, with the payments, and the... Oh, but Gibson's is only ten blocks away, but I gotta cut through the park, and then there's the over-breed of pigeons—“  
  
“ _Elliot,_ ” Five stresses.  
  
“It's like five, maybe six hours.”  
  
One of the radios go off behind you, a man coming in through the static to speak, ' _Attention all units, we have a code 3-15 at the Holbrook Sanitarium.'_  
  
“The hell is a 3-15?” Five asks.  
  
“Mmm, fugitives on the run,” Elliot says, gesturing with his spoon.  
  
You move closer to the radio, turning it up and feeling Five hovering behind you as you listen. The man continues to say ' _25 patients still at large. Many are considered armed and dangerous.'_  
  
“Oh, Diego,” Five sighs.  
  
“Who's Diego?”  
  
“Imagine Batman, then aim lower.”  
  
You actually let out a laugh at that, and Five looks up to watch as you try to cover your mouth and choke it back down. There's amusement in his eyes despite the seriousness on the rest of his face, and he takes you by your wrist when he starts walking away.  
  
“Elliot, you get started on that film, we'll be back as soon as we can.”  
  
“Did you eat anything?” you suddenly ask Five as you're coming down the stairs.  
  
“Yeah, a delicious display of blue cheese Quiché with a whole grain crust,” he deadpans, waiting for you at the bottom.  
  
“And you didn't leave any for me? You're the worst.”  
  
He gives you a tight smile, “I drank a whole pot of coffee before you woke up and stuffed half a bran muffin down my throat.”  
  
“Better than nothing, I suppose,” you hum.  
  
“What about you?” he asks.  
  
“I had half a cup of coffee just now.”  
  
He clicks his tongue, “Well, then, you're in no position to question my diet, my dear.”  
  
“How's this; We eat an actual meal when we get back from rescuing Diego from himself,” you offer.  
  
“I've already raided Elliot's fridge—not much in there. You'll have to do some shopping.”  
  
“Can nothing just work out smoothly for us?”

* * *

“There,” Five huffs, pointing to a car stopped outside on the curb.  
  
“We just gonna kidnap him?” you ask, squinting when you see another figure in the car with him.  
  
“I have a better idea.”  
  
Five lunges forward and blinks right into the back seat of the car, and you groan, picking up your speed down the sidewalk. You notice only a few other people around the building, but not much. One of those includes a police officer a ways away, and you're really not trying to get his attention. Especially if Diego is going to put up a fight.  
  
At that, Five sticks his head out the window and yells, “ _Officer!_ ”  
  
You curse and rush into the car, shoving Five to the side and watching to see if the policeman heard him. The man seems confused, but keeps on his way, thankfully too far off to really have heard exactly what was said. You give Five a look, but he's already being held by a more pissed looking Diego. There's another person in the driver's seat, a woman, and she almost looks familiar to you, in a far off sense—like you may have seen her in a photo somewhere, but never really looked at her face.  
  
“Okay, now who is _this?_ Another brother of yours?” the woman asks, looking you over.  
  
“ _I_ hear there's a reward out for you two,” Five says instead, Diego letting him go.  
  
The woman huffs, “He's bluffing.”  
  
“He's not,” you say, giving her a blank stare.  
  
“Fine,” Diego says, “I'll go with you.”  
  
“What about me?” the woman asks.  
  
Everyone looks at her, then back to Diego.  
  
“ _And_ I'm bringing the crazy lady.”  
  
“The more, the merrier,” you mumble, sitting back in your seat.  
  
She starts the car and pulls away from the building. It's silent in the car, strained and just a bit awkward.  
  
The woman speaks up, “So, two brothers, huh? You all adopted or something?”  
  
“One brother,” Five says, rolling his window up.  
  
“Oookay then, who are you?” she asks instead, looking at you through the rear-view mirror.  
  
“They're a family friend,” Diego says, looking over at you, and he looks apologetic.  
  
“Got it,” she mutters, looking back to the road, “... We knew a person at the psych ward that was like that.”  
  
“Like what?” you ask, searching for her eyes in the mirror.  
  
She looks back up at you, meeting your eyes, “Used that 'They' thing when referring to themselves... 'course, they had multiple personalities, so it made sense. Do _you?_ ”  
  
“Cut it out,” Diego suddenly interjects.  
  
You turn to look out the window, not wanting to participate in conversation anymore. When you finally arrive, she parks rather awfully on a side street, and you all pile out, forming a line into the store and up the stairs. You haven't even taken three steps before Elliot is coming down the hallway with a gun pointed at you and Five, switching back and forth rapidly.  
  
“Where did you get the film? 'The Frankel Footage.' The _truth_ this time!”  
  
“You know this lunatic?” Diego asks and you sigh.  
  
“He's harmless,” you say, more worried about what he found than for your safety.  
  
“Are you sure about that?” The woman asks.  
  
“Are you, or are you not, an enemy of the people?!” Elliot shouts, almost shaking.  
  
Diego mutters, “Such an open-ended question.”  
  
“Really depends on the people,” Five says.  
  
“Define what you mean by 'enemy,'” you shrug.  
  
“You move one more muscle, I will blow your brains out,” Elliot says, but he's not intimidating in the slightest.  
  
You hum, “You wanna take this, or should I?”  
  
“No, I got him,” Five replies.  
  
Diego calls for the woman's attention just in time for Five to blink right in front of Elliot, shoving the barrel of the gun up into the ceiling. Elliot fires off, causing a bit of dust to rain down, and you rush forward, easily disarming him of the gun. You admire the vintage firearm as you pull out the magazine and pop out the bullet in the chamber.  
  
The woman huffs behind you, “What the hell just happened?”

* * *

You're watching Lila—the woman from earlier, as she happily introduced herself as—paint Elliot's toenails lime-glitter-green, taking advantage that you've tied him up to a chair, and the film slowly sputters to life through the projector next to you. There's an older couple on screen fumbling around with the camera, unsure of how to use it, and having a soft argument about it. It's honestly a bit heartwarming.  
  
“They're so cute,” Lila says, looking up at you, “I love old couples. I'm always so proud of them for not murdering each other.”  
  
“Why are we watching this?” asks Diego.  
  
" _Shush,_ ” Five replies, fixated on the projection screen.  
  
You look up from her handiwork to watch as well, folding your arms and standing in-place beside Five. The man and woman introduce themselves as Dan and Edna Frankel, explaining that they came to Dallas to see the President.  
  
“ _Today's date is November 22, 1963,_ ” says Dan on the film.  
  
“That's six days from now,” you and Lila say together.  
  
“Holy shit, this is it,” Diego leans forward, setting his knife down, “The grassy knoll. Kennedy's about to get shot. How do you have this?”  
  
“Hazel died to get this to us,” you say, pressing a finger to your lip as you watch the footage more attentively.  
  
“It must be the key to stopping doomsday,” Five continues after you.  
  
Diego side-eyes you, “Hazel?”  
  
“Long story,” you sigh.  
  
“Doomsday?” Lila asks.  
  
“ _Longer_ story,” Five says.  
  
“What exactly did he say to you?” Diego says next.  
  
“Well, he was killed before he could explain. But whatever he wanted us to see, it's on this film.”  
  
Not long after that a muffled gunshot can be heard in the background of the footage, the camera immediately going shaky as the couple panics. Screams can be heard, people calling for the president, and general chaos unfolds as the visual footage is incomprehensible for a few seconds. It turns back around, though still shaky, and attempts to show some people standing by on the other side of the road. Through the grain and the quaking, you can make out a figure in all black, holding an umbrella, but nothing else more significant. However, both Five and Diego become more perturbed at this, and Five moves to rewind the tape, clicking the switch over and letting it only reverse just a few seconds before playing it again. He stops it on a frame where the figure is in perfect shot, grabbing the stand the projector is set on and rolling it backwards to blow up the image. Clearly, this person is important, and you try to walk forward and get a closer look, Diego coming up next to you.  
  
“This can't be,” Five says, gently pushing you aside to get a better look at the man.  
  
“Who is that?” you ask, turning to the brothers, only just to see them completely enamored.  
  
“No, that's impossible,” Diego mumbles.  
  
“Clearly, it's not,” Five says.  
  
“What... what is it?” Elliot says through the fabric in his mouth, surprisingly clear.  
  
“Dad,” Five and Diego say simultaneously.  
  
“ _Dad?_ ” you stress, whipping your head back to look at the incredibly blurry man on the film.  
  
“There's no doubt,” Five groans, now pacing back and forth, tugging on his hair, “I'd recognize the bastard anywhere.”  
  
Diego moves past you, shaking his head, “Of course Dad would be involved in the assassination. I should've known.”  
  
“No,” Five says, though he sounds slightly unsure, “You're jumping to conclusions.”  
  
“What the hell _else_ is he doing standing on the grassy knoll, holding an open black umbrella on a _sunny_ day in _Dallas_ the _exact_ same moment the president gets _shot?!_ ” Diego's voice cracks as he moves towards Five, gesturing strongly and pointing at his father on the screen.  
  
“It _doesn't_ look good, I admit.”  
  
“No, he's the signalman for the whole goddamn thing.”  
  
“Easy, Diego. Seriously.”  
  
“No, it makes sense. This is what Hazel was obviously trying to tell you. We have to stop Dad from killing the president.”  
  
“Okay, hi,” you say, putting a hand between the two men, “Now I don't know the man, but what the hell would your father gain from axing Kennedy?”  
  
Five sighs, “Look, our Dad wasn't exactly a Boy Scout, but presidential assassination? Never been his thing, so that can't be where this is going.”  
  
“How would you know?” Diego says, “You skipped out on his golden years.”  
  
“Skipped out?” Five asks, his jaw clenching tightly, “You think I had it easy, Diego? I was _alone_ for 26 _years!_ ” he takes a breath, stepping back, “You know what, we don't have the time for this right now.”  
  
You worry, but let him be as he turns around, raising his arms, “Dad's clearly in Dallas, right? Let's just go talk to him. Maybe he can help us fix the timeline.”  
  
“Dallas is a big place,” Diego says, “We need to find him first.”  
  
You're already moving, searching for a phone-book in the bookshelf by the wall, finding what you need and walking past everyone to the small table in the kitchen.  
  
“Gee, if only we had some magical, old-timey way of finding people and their addresses,” Five says as he gestures to you.  
  
You drop the book down and open it up, flipping through the pages and ads to get to the pages where they begin listing everything in mass.  
  
“Let's start simple,” Five comes up with Diego in tow, “His name.”  
  
“Reginald Hargreeves,” Diego says to you, and you keep flipping through, running your finger down the long list.  
  
“Nothing under that name,” you say with a huff, and Five leans over your shoulder to look.  
  
“Try his company; D.S. Umbrella Manufacturing Co.” he offers.  
  
You flip all the way over to businesses and go down the line, squinting until you find exactly what you're looking for.  
  
“There it is, D.S. Umbrella. 82 Olive.”  
  
“Let's go,” Diego says, stepping around the table.  
  
You close the book and walk after him, waiting for him to slide the projector screen up, so you can walk through the doorway. You spare a glance at Elliot, frowning at his still bound state, but keep moving past him anyhow. Diego looks over his shoulder at you.  
  
“He okay to leave like that?”  
  
“He should be fine,” you say.  
  
“What about the girl?” Five asks.  
  
When you all turn to look around, Lila is completely gone. Diego curses under his breath and walks off further into the building, apparently knowing exactly where she would be. Five clicks his tongue impatiently and turns in place, fidgeting with his tie. You stop him and move his hands out of the way, so you can fix it properly since he ended up pinching the knot and twisting the fabric. You lift his collar and loosen the tie completely, now retying it with practiced ease.  
  
“You okay?” you ask him, searching his face.  
  
“Never better,” he replies. Typical.  
  
“We'll talk later,” you say instead, sliding the knot all the way back up.  
  
He hums in response, watching as you flip the collar of his shirt back down and tuck the rest of the tie into his vest. He then stuffs his hands into his pocket with a deep sigh and moves to lean against the banister.  
  
“Hey,” you start, “Does something about Lila seem... not right, to you? Her accent hits me weird.”  
  
“Glad to know we both don't trust her,” he replies, looking down at the floor below.  
  
When Diego comes back, he's alone, and nothing is said about it. He has the keys to the car in hand, and begins to walk right out of the building, so you and Five hustle to keep up with him. Five blinks himself right into the passenger seat of the car, and you roll your eyes, sliding into the back with no problem. Sometimes you wonder why he's willing to use precious energy doing things that are borderline childish—like always wanting passenger if he's not the one driving. Still, you all buckle up and settle in for the long drive that is getting all the way to 82 Olive, which is far from the little commercial district of your cozy town. You don't doubt that it'll be far after dusk by the time you get there, if not further into the night, and you lean back against the leather seats. The world drifts by in a blur outside the window, just like your thoughts, and you simply listen to the soft hum of the music on the radio as you wait.  
  
“So much for having an actual meal,” you say to yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so much in S2 that's wobbly and not entirely solid when it comes to certain plot-lines and characters. It's super hard to want to give them more depth without throwing stuff out of whack, because S2 takes _so many_ liberties with the Hargreeves' powers and personalities. Wish me luck.


End file.
